


It Begins With Trust

by Paradoxalpoised



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Christmas Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, F/F, Femslash, Idiots in Love, Swan-Mills Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:06:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradoxalpoised/pseuds/Paradoxalpoised
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After returning from Neverland not to be threatened by any predictable evil forces again, Regina and Emma have decided to co-parent in the best disposition possible. They have been spending time together and learning to know each other better. Christmas and the holiday season comes around, bringing its share of challenges, emotions and unexpected series of events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vulnerable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [devje](https://archiveofourown.org/users/devje/gifts).



> To my darling Devje, because having your birthday close to Christmas doesn't mean you don't get spoiled twice. Thank you for your ever caring support and relentless vigilance over my work. I couldn't do this without you, just as much as I couldn't do it without Gio.
> 
> C.
> 
> PS | my thanks to the usual suspects, well a little unusual this time, for their help on this story: Giors, Sez, Fangirlin'it.
> 
> You can find me over on Tumblr. and Twitter @Paradoxalpoised.
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> [Setting | Events in this story are situated post Neverland, there will not be any more big evils or villains coming to Storybrooke.]

 

* * *

 

“I didn’t get you a present.”

It’s ten thirty, maybe eleven at night. It’s December the 25th. It’s Christmas Day.

Emma Swan is standing on her front porch. Clearly disheveled, an arm around her middle, another to her chest. Her nose is reddened by the cold. Emma’s usually vibrant, maybe even defiant eyes are soft and sad. It’s a look Regina knows. She’s seen it before time and again. She’s put it there herself.

She’s been working at not doing that again.

At least Emma is wearing her gloves. The cashmere lined, red leather gloves she gifted her that very morning. The gloves, scarf and beanie hat, all of the same ivory cashmere which she had tailor-made. At least they leave Emma warm and impervious to wind and rain.

“You got me a phone. And you covered Henry with presents, Emma. That’s what matters,” she says, because it’s true. Henry loves the presents Emma got him. She spoiled him. Video games, sled, clothes, even an iPhone. Emma was thoughtful enough to ask first if it was an appropriate present and if it would agreeable for Emma to pick up the monthly fee. Apparently, Emma had taken Regina’s acceptance as an opportunity to buy her an iPhone as well.

It’s only that Emma should be with Henry right this instant. Not on her front porch while he’s at his grandparents. Their hoarding of her son when she has just only gotten him back to her folds isn’t particularly pleasing, but she’s coping.

Idiots.

“I wanted to get you one,” Emma insists.

They’ve been doing this. Picking up conversations they haven’t started before.

“That matters, too,” Regina says. Because it does. “And by all means, you have.” That it wasn’t wrapped in shiny paper with a bow doesn’t make it any less. Like any other of Emma’s quiet gestures.

Emma looks cold. Cold and erratic. There’s this misery in her usually vibrant, maybe even defiant eyes.

“It does?” Emma asks.

Yes, it does. Regina thought that she had been forgotten. She thought that she wasn’t worth the effort. She thought she didn’t deserve Emma’s attention. She thought this emotional, conflicting amalgam of feelings unrequited. Disarmed. Unwanted. Weak.

“Yes, it does.” Regina almost smiles as she extends a hand to Emma. It’s of no consequence that the one taking hers is gloved. Emma accepts her.

They do that with each other now. Since Neverland.

She feels the tremors rocking her. “Now come in, you look frozen. How—Emma, did you walk here?”

“I did.” Emma nods.

She’s much closer to her now. Regina inhales Emma’s crisp scent, enjoying the faint trace of the soft and sweet ambery perfume she sprayed on the scarf before gifting it to her. A perfume she chose, but has yet to give Emma. It bites her unexpectedly, this impulse to simply wrap Emma in her embrace. Maybe it could chase the ugly away.

“I walked,” Emma says, and she’s brought back to the present situation.

“What would possess you to walk in so much snow?! It’s probably the coldest winter we’ve had in these past thirty years,” Regina exclaims. She tugs gently on the gloved hand to pull Emma past the mansion’s threshold. She doesn’t want to spook the deer. Emma seems more than a little upset. Vulnerable.

“The Bug wouldn’t start.” Emma shrugs. As if that’s an explanation in and of itself.

Regina rolls her eyes. Of course. But she catches Emma’s eye and offers a smile she wills to be soft. “Just come in. I’ll make you some hot chocolate and we’ll talk.”

“I’m not alone,” Emma says. Body immovable.

Regina surveys past Emma’s shoulders. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. Sourly, she assumes Emma has brought Baelfire—Neal Cassidy, a name from an old western movie—to air whatever grievances he might have against her, the Evil Queen, mother of the son he claims his after all but five minutes.

All but five minutes now or when Henry was conceived.

The Evil Queen. Always and ever. To all of them but Emma.

“This is hardly the time for a talk with your ex. Henry wanted to see him today and he did, thanks to your mother, so I fail to see—” She can’t help but be defensive, although Emma interrupts her.

“What? No. God, no.” Emma’s hand slips out of hers much to Regina’s jolting chagrin. Emma sighs as she opens her black woollen coat that—thank the universe—she chose to wear instead of any of her leather jackets which all lack insulation.

Emma takes a step closer, much closer to Regina. “Look,” she whispers.

Regina looks. There, against Emma’s heart, tucked in some expanse of the scarf, rests a sleeping and tiny ball of white fur. It’s a small, very small kitten.

“Oh, Emma…” Yes, she coos. It happens to the best of people. And she’s not just people.

“She’s lost,” Emma states, then sniffs once. Her eyes are full of tears she’s trying to swallow. “I found her in the snow, I almost missed her.”

“You found her?” Regina has her arms around Emma’s waist and back before she can think to stop herself. Gently, ever so gently, she inches Emma inside.

Emma shakes her head. “If I come in with her… I came here with her because… Would you… Please?”

Regina considers Emma for a short moment. Emma and her lost girl. Lost like Emma.

“Yes,” Regina says, warm and rich. She brushes a tear rolling on Emma’s cheek. She caresses the jaw, featherlight, down to Emma’s chin. Softly, she invites Emma to face her. “I will,” she confirms.

She’s adopting the kitten, because she’s adopted Emma Swan. It doesn’t matter if the kitten is hers to adopt. It is what Emma needs to trust that she’s wanted and welcome. That she’s never going to be lost and alone in the cold of the world again.

“You promise?” Emma is begging. Regina’s heart breaks once. Once more. Emma is begging with the heart of an abandoned child, parched for love, freedom and life, in the body of a grown woman. She will never have to beg for love. Not with her. Not ever.

Regina’s fingertips linger, stroking soft but cold skin. Emma leans into her hand.

“Yes, Emma, I promise,” Regina smiles. Reassurance.

They do that with each other now. Since Neverland.

“Will you come in so you can both recover from your emotions and tell me all about what has happened?” She inclines her head toward the warmth of the house.

“‘kay,” Emma says.

It begins with trust.

 

* * *

 

It’s not that unusual for Emma to stop by Regina’s office at lunch time anymore.

They do that with each other now. Since Neverland.

They also work in the same building.

It’s Monday after Thanksgiving. The air was crisp and the sky low when she left for work. Dawn has been leaving traces of pink on the pale morning lights every day for a week. Snow is going to fall, heavy, steady. A white Yule season. A white Christmas.

She wants it. A white Christmas with Henry. The two of them. Their tree, their lights, their music. The cookies, the hot chocolate, the movies. Them.

“Hey,” Emma says, effectively tearing her away from her intense surge of motherly urge to reconnect with her son. “Mrs. Cloverfield said I could come in. Brought you lunch.”

Emma only approaches the desk to deposit her cargo on the only corner that isn’t littered with folders and papers. She retreats a couple of steps, though. They might be doing lunch often, but usually Emma brings something to eat for herself. Today she hasn’t. Which means she doesn’t intend to stay.

“Thank you, Miss Swan. How considerate of you.” She tries not to sound unsettled that Emma doesn’t wish for her company. “You didn’t have to.” She inclines her head to the paper bag. “Especially if you didn’t bring your own.”

Emma scratches the back of her neck, a gesture Regina has come to associate with doubt and embarrassment.

“I wanted to say thank you for putting up with my parents and the whole Thanksgiving stuff last week, actually,” she says, throwing her hand in front of her in a circling motion to gesture the ‘stuff_’_ she’s referring to.

Thanksgiving was made a huge affair by Snow, who insisted on having half the town over at the new Charmings’ residence—a spacious three-storey mansion, now that Snow has been made the school Principal and David works at the vet’s clinic. It’s not that far off from Mifflin, actually, and ready to accommodate the sure-to-be-birthed flock of White children Snow and her shepherd have predictively always dreamed about.

It was made an even bigger ordeal when Snow and her legendary tactful mouth could barely hold in their wonderful news. They are pregnant—how modern of them—and isn’t it marvellous that Emma is to be a sister and Henry an uncle?

Given the look on both their faces, Regina had concluded that no, it was nothing marvellous for either of them. Far from a crowd cheering for their royal couple, Emma had barely been able to smile politely and congratulate her parents. Parents who couldn’t find it in their heroic hearts to give their freshly found daughter six months of an as-close-to-normal life in Storybrooke as decently possible before turning her entire world upside down all over again.

Idiots.

Suffice to say, Emma had been even more uncomfortable at the Charmings’ after that than Regina herself, but it doesn’t mean she was at all comfortable beforehand. Emma had seemed lost and out of place, as if she didn’t have a clear idea of how to be. In public, with her family, or specifically around the event. Emma had appeared as if a misplaced toy, heavy with dust, on the wrong shelf of an old and forgotten pawn shop. Not unlike one of Geppetto’s creations he kept in the back of his garage. Not unlike one of the trinkets hidden somewhere in Gold’s shop.

Emma had appeared as if she could have had a dire need of a user guide on how to celebrate the holiday. Maybe even on how to celebrate all of them, including her own birthday. Or Christmas.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” Regina says.

She wasn’t able to do much more than enact a masquerade on behalf of Emma and Henry, to feint the necessary pleasantries. Not that Snow had noticed much of her daughter’s discomfort. David had, however. He had hugged her and she had gone as rigid as a plank. Which is when Regina had stepped in to congratulate him and provide cover for Emma’s desperate escape.

She had found Emma a little while later—after ensuring Henry could handle the news and be left on his own for a time—in the den at the back of the house with a beer, crossed-legged on a windowsill sofa. Regina had made her entrance with a well heaped plate of food and that had loosened a smile from Emma. They had talked about beer versus wine, about Regina’s cooking being better than Snow’s, maybe even Granny’s, but mostly, Emma had made certain not to utter a word of the elephant in the room.

“Yeah,” Emma insists, “I do.”

“It was only a plate of food and a little education in the more refined things of this world, dear.” Regina smiles, genuinely aware that Emma knows precisely what she’s referring to and willing the atmosphere to be warmer so maybe Emma won’t run from her just yet.

“It meant a great deal to me.” Emma’s tone is serious. “Enjoy your meal.”

She’s already turning on her heels when Regina stands from her desk chair and reaches an arm out to catch her. Suddenly aware of what she’s done and that she can’t reach Emma, she calls after her, “Why don’t you stay? I’m sure there’s enough for us to share.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Emma tells her. Shy. Her usually vibrant, maybe even defiant eyes, soft again from sorrow and a melancholy she fears is here to stay.

“Not at all.” Regina is already around the corner of her desk, picking up the to-go bag of food and the venti cup of what is certainly hot enough to be coffee which she knows will be doctored to her taste. “I have no doubt Granny has made more than enough for the both of us. Red seems to be under the ludicrous idea that I don’t eat enough.”

She walks over to the long conference table, putting the bag and coffee down before hurrying to her ensuite. She comes back carrying two plates, mugs and cutlery she keeps on hand. She sets the table for two, opening the container of a beautiful and still-warm Caesar Salad accompanied by a panini garnished with what smells very much like mozzarella, rosemary and this lovely cherry tomato tapenade Granny has taken a liking to and has added to some new items on her menu.

“See?” Regina says, as she cut the panini in two equal halves. She even pours half the coffee in the mug she’s reserved for Emma, and the rest in hers.

Emma eyes her hesitantly before taking in a short breath and answering with her usual, “‘kay.”

They sit at the conference table and begin eating their improvised lunch in a silence that isn’t at all comfortable. The food is good at least.

Regina puts her fork down. She observes Emma avoid her conscientiously. Things being awkward as they are now, she might as well come out with it. “Emma?”

“Yeah?” Emma answers, forced to look up from her plate.

“There’s something we need to discuss—” Regina starts, but is interrupted right away.

“I wanted to thank you for being cool at Thanksgiving, not talk about it.” Emma isn’t usually this direct. There’s anger pooling in her eyes like she’s getting ready to lash out.

They’ve played this game before.

That Emma would want to thank her for being kind means that she has to acknowledge that she was in fact kind. Regina has been kind before, it’s not like the sentiment is completely foreign to her. She’s kind to Kathryn. She’s kind to Red. She’s kind to Henry.

Being kind to Emma is not new.

They do that with each other now. Since Neverland.

Being kind to Emma is different than being kind to Red or Kathryn. It’s more tangled. It’s more convoluted. It’s more.

She sighs.

“That’s not what I meant,” Regina says, hoping to diffuse the time bomb she can feel in Emma’s demeanor. “I would like us to discuss arrangements regarding Henry and Christmas.”

“Oh,” is all Emma lets out.

“Henry and I have just reconciled, as you well know, and I was really hoping that he could spend Christmas Eve and at least Christmas morning with me.” There, she’s said it.

“Regina, it’s not even December yet, can we not do this right now?” Emma is pleading with her.

“It’s the week after Thanksgiving,” Regina explains. “Henry and I usually choose our tree come week’s end. It’s the first thing we do together regarding Christmas”

“For real?” Emma now sounds panicked. “Should I get one too? Now? For the loft I mean?”

“That’s for you and Henry to decide, dear.” Regina tries to give her somewhat of a reassuring smile. “But I wouldn’t wait too long if you wish to have one. Storybrooke residents are quite serious about their festivities.”

“I don’t even know where to get one,” Emma says dejected.

“I’m certain your father can help you with that,” Regina offers, curious to see Emma’s reaction. “If you want him to.”

“No,” Emma deadpans.

Obviously, time passing has done nothing to soothe Emma’s heart.

“Gepetto is the one who helps Henry and I with our tree,” Regina indicates. “But Emma, what I’d like to get your attention on is that we need to decide what we are going to do with Henry about the holidays.”

“I got that,” Emma says, but doesn’t go on.

Regina hesitates. In the past, this would probably be the moment they start feeling threatened by each other. The moment they start fighting, screaming, neither of them ready to back down from their position. Emma must be feeling the tension as well for she’s completely abandoned her food and is thrumming with a tension Regina can feel from across the table.

She doesn’t want this to be a conflict. It’s odd to consciously admit it, but she doesn’t want to be in conflict with Emma Swan ever again. She wants them to be good with each other, even when they disagree. This is just a particular issue she can’t have them disagree on.

Regina must have Henry for Christmas.

She’s worked too hard to gain his trust back. She’s worked too hard to save his life and bring him home. Their home. He has come home and he’s happy about it. He’s her family. She is his. Before the Charmings, certainly before Baelfire. Before Emma even. Before anyone else in this forsaken town who would want to lay a claim to him.

They are their own family. First and foremost.

She’s reluctantly willing to let him spend time with the idiots and of course with Emma, if Henry wishes it, but he should be with her for Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning. She deserves it. They deserve it.

“It’s not that I want to keep him away from you, or other people that are his family, too,” Regina tries a diplomatic approach. She is a politician, after all. “I suppose we can arrange for him to visit over on Christmas Day, or even the day after Christmas, but I feel strongly that Henry and I should have the opportunity to spend Christmas together in our home, with our own traditions that we’ve had long before anyone else here knew him for who he is, or before you came along.”

She regrets her last words as they come out of her mouth.

“Before I came along?” Emma asks, almost jumping out of her chair and knocking it back, rhetoric evident in her tone of voice, her usually vibrant, maybe even defiant eyes blazing anew.

“I did not mean to insult you,” she tries, lifting a hand in a calming gesture.

“No, of course not.” Emma’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. The sound of their old demon reopening the freshly mended wound of their complicated history and tumultuous relationship.

Doubt and annoyance fill Regina quickly. Old habits die hard. Damn her. Impetuous.

And then she does something. Something spontaneous. Something much against her upbringing and conditioning.

“Forgive me,” she blurts.

Emma looks at her then, not that she hadn’t been, but the expression in her usually vibrant, maybe even defiant eyes isn’t anger anymore. There’s surprise. There’s nervousness. Maybe even a sort of—is it tenderness?

Emma doesn’t say a word. She closes her eyes as she inhales deeply and nods.

“I don’t want us to fight,” Regina tries again, standing up and taking a step to be close to Emma. She wants her sincerity to come across. “Not like we used to. I appreciate our bantering and the fact that we are both opinionated women with intense ways. I just don’t want us to hurt each other anymore.” She pauses. “It hurts Henry. It hurts both of us as well, if I dare say.”

No one shall have the gall to declare she isn’t being the bigger person here. The reasonable and honest adult.

Emma is now shifting from foot to foot. Uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” she says, eloquent as ever.

“This is really important to me,” Regina goes on, deciding that Christmas with her son is worth opening up. If she must. “I think we’ve done well with our attempt at co-parenting since, well, since Neverland, and I’d like it to remain that way.”

There, look at her admitting truths and weaknesses.

“Look,” Emma answers, “I hear you, okay? But I haven’t the first fucking clue of what things are gonna be like for Christmas on my side of things right now. Hell, I’m barely out of that Thanksgiving bullshit.” She pauses, seems to consider her next words for a moment. “Could I have, like, some time to sort it out and then get back to you about this?”

Regina loathes the dread that invades her in spades. For as nervous as Emma’s request makes her feel, it isn’t an unreasonable one.

“Very well,” she agrees.

“‘Kay,” Emma says, “I better get back now. Thanks for lunch.”

Emma takes the direction of the door, her head hanging low, leaving Regina behind. Regina can’t help the nagging feeling that she’s cornered Emma when she was only looking for a safe place to hang on to after the tactless and jabbing news she’s been given. That safe place was her. Instead, Emma fell into the trap of Regina’s insecurity.

She’s tainted something. It tastes foul. She might be wishing to have Henry for Christmas, but now she finds herself wishing for Emma to come back and finish their lunch. Pathetic, abandoned on the table. Regret.

And here they are. Walking on eggshells again.

And here she is. Resting in the palm of Emma Swan.

Vulnerable.

 

* * *

 


	2. Wednesday's Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The matter of Christmas has been brought up in the most painful way, but, although Emma and Regina do not appear to have particularly smoothed things over, Emma has offered they partner up to treat Henry to a special dinner at Granny's after his well earned success for his first trimester of school.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Devje,
> 
> Your Christmas present seems to have grown from a three parter to a fiver parter.
> 
> I know this won't upset you, but you must know how much I don't like to post stories I don't actually have completed beforehand. In any case, the chapter kept getting bigger and bigger, which wouldn't have been harmonious with the previous one so here is the next scene of this Christmas story. Now that you've gone back to work of course.
> 
> Anyway, it's my pleasure.
> 
> Oh and Happy New Year, to everyone.
> 
> 'kay, bye now.
> 
> C.
> 
> PS | I'd like to thank the usual suspects, aka the guys who worked on chapter 1, for editing Chapter 2 as well.
> 
> You can find me over on Tumblr. and Twitter @Paradoxalpoised.

 

* * *

 

“God, I thought this thing would never end!” Emma exclaims, a bright smile on her lips as she bumps Henry with her hip. “This is worse than one of your mom’s council meetings.”

“It’s important,” Henry pouts, “and I got straight A’s all trimester.”

They’ve just come out of the Junior and High School gymnasium, where Henry’s parent/teacher conference was taking place.

“Welcome to the world of parenting, Miss Swan.” Regina is smiling, too. She’s glad Emma actually did keep to her word despite not having had much contact with her at all since their lunch disaster the previous week.

“I just never realized that teachers were so much like politicians,” Emma smirks. “They just love listening to the sound of their own voices.”

Regina gives her a pointed look, but it’s only because she knows it’s expected of her. This is not unlike how they were around each other, when all three of them spent time together during the summer. Playful.

“Anyway,” Emma goes on, “your mom and I decided you deserve a treat.”

“Really?” Henry’s excitement is palpable. “What’s the plan?”

“Wednesday’s Special at Granny’s,” Emma tells him.

“There’s no Wednesday’s Special at Granny’s,” Henry reasons.

“Sure there is, kid.” Emma wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Anything you want on the menu with a milkshake and fries.”

They both laugh. Their laughs chime differently but there’s a trace of Emma’s in his, a rhythm they share. Regina hadn’t quite noticed before. She hadn’t quite paid that much attention before.

They drive there in the Mercedes—Emma has left the Bug at the Diner in anticipation of their plan—as Emma and Henry babble with each other about such and such teacher, about Jefferson’s daughter, Grace, who came by to say hello to Henry, and also about Theo, Miss Cloverfield’s nephew and ward. Henry’s new best friend. Henry’s never had a best friend.

She smiles at the thought.

Dinner at the Diner is Emma’s idea. She’d popped in with coffee the previous Friday morning at the office, letting the whole work week go by before willingly seeing her again. Not that Regina had had any intention to press her agenda further. Once had been enough. Ache.

It had surprised her, to say the least, that Emma had suggested they spent time together—dinner, on one of her evenings with Henry—even If it is to honor his good grades and dedication to school, they could have parted after the conference. Emma didn’t have to include her. Yet, she did. Maybe it is a first step toward mending what Regina has torn. Hope.

The bell chimes as Henry pushes the door of the Diner, barrelling in, grinning to Red who must have heard them coming because she just happens to be by the door waiting for them.

“High five, my man!” Red greets Henry with a grin matching his. He obliges. “I’ve got your usual booth warmed up, and your fave milkshake in the blender.”

“Cool! Thanks, Ruby!” Henry runs past her toward their booth.

“Hey, Rubes,” Emma says as she follows Henry without pausing.

“Good evening, Red,” Regina greets their friend with a smile that has become only theirs over the past few months of their budding friendship.

“Hey,” Red smiles back. Bright and genuine. Happy to see her. “You go on,” Red nods to Regina, “I’ll be right with you.”

Regina lets her eyes roam over the Diner despite knowing where Emma and Henry are seated. She takes a moment to compose herself. If she must be honest with herself— these days, there seems to be no escape or delay to her inner sense of self-truth—she’s nervous. Somewhat.

“You’ll be fine,” Red whispers in her ear from behind her. She goes as far as to place her hand on the small of her back. “It’s all good, I promise.”

It’s evident Red knows more than she does. Yes, it’s become evident Red always knows more than she lets on. About everything. Especially the people close to her and their intimate feelings. Not that Regina has broached the subject of Red’s empathy and insights. Not that she intends to. It, however, has become something she has learned to accept, not to doubt. Red is a werewolf. A very powerful magical creature. Their respective magical essences bleed in well with one another.

Regina closes her eyes an instant longer than it usually takes one to blink. “Hmm,” she hums, low in her throat, but doesn’t say anything before she walks over to the booth Henry and Emma are already seated at.

They are sitting next to each other, leaving the other bench of the booth for Regina, who settles in front of Emma.

“Everything all right?” Emma asks, more warmth in her tone than Regina is expecting.

“Yes,” she inclines her head, “we should decide on what to order.”

“I’m having a cheeseburger with double cheese, no pickles and no tomatoes in it,” Henry declares, smirking at her like he’d like to see her try to force him to eat the tomato slice anyway.

Henry destests pickles. He, however, loves tomatoes. Except for that one slice that always comes along in a burger. Not that she’s ever forced him to eat it. It’s the quiet disapproval and the banter he enjoys.

She smiles at him knowingly. “It’s your day, mijo,” she says voice laden with a faint innocence, “you may eat whatever pleases you.”

“That’s the spirit, kid,” Emma encourages. “I’ll take the same, with a chocolate shake and fries.”

“Miss Swan can clean up after you, if you get sick,” Regina adds as if Emma had not interrupted at all. “I’ll have the exact same thing, with salsa in mine instead of the tomato.”

She loathes that tomato slice just as much as he does.

Their jaws drop in unison. Regina is quite satisfied with herself.

“So if I heard you right,” Red says, having appeared by their table without any of them noticing—as far as she can tell—and not that Red could hear wrongly, ”that’ll be three cheeseburgers, double cheese, no tomato in two, extra salsa on the side for Regina and Henry, because he always ends up wanting some anyway, fries for everyone and three of my very special chocolate shakes.”

She looks up from her scribbles on her little note pad to give them a circular look, in case, any of them has anything else they’d like to add.

“Precisely.” Regina nods to conclude the ceremonial.

“Coming right up!” Red smiles, tussles Henry’s hair, turns around on her heels and is gone faster than anyone can say ‘Quidditch’.

Red and her antics. They amuse Henry. They reassure Emma. They mellow Regina. The girl has become so dear to them. To her. Even though she is no girl. Even though she suffers her own share of misery. Generosity.

Regina forces her mind to wander back to the present moment. She has time, she now knows, because Red taught her, to learn about the ones she cares about. She doesn’t have to possess them or everything about their hearts and minds at once. She can be safe even when she doesn’t know. She can make mistakes without losing all that was built before. She can listen, she can apologize, she can be forgiven. At least with Red, she can.

What of Emma? Is she pretending for Henry’s sake? Regina has felt the passage of time giving them both enough space to become something different than the enemies they never truly were. What they have become is unclear. Co-parents, yes. Friends, after a fashion. So how to explain the knot at the pit of her stomach, the weight on her chest?

Why does Emma always have her filled with questions she doesn’t know the answers to, or an anxiety so great she doesn’t dare face it with her usual decisiveness? Red, Kathryn, both have the power to make her question herself. To motivate her to be her best self, much like Henry.

Emma does—is, perhaps—something else entirely.

She has to mend this latest tear in the complicated seam of their bond. She must. Furthermore, she wishes it. She has been enjoying their togetherness. Yearning.

“Henry, why don’t you go wash up before Red brings our drinks and our meals?” Regina says, gently enough but not so much that he doesn’t take the hint on the first attempt.

She watches him walk towards the men’s room, refocuses her gaze on Emma. She then rearranges the napkin holder and both squeezy bottles of mustard and ketchup as soon as she realizes Emma is in fact studying her. She’d thought Emma would be nervous. Actually, she can feel that Emma is almost shaking with tension.

Emma Swan. 

Regina smiles. A small smile she can’t hold. Emma Swan is petrified, but she’s also bold and brave. It’s not only endearing, it’s attractive.

Emma Swan. Attractive.

They do that with each other now. Since Neverland.

Or was it from the very first night they met? From choosing sleep over death for her? Or from that moment Emma sent her flying into a volley of lockers and she yielded?

She endures. She resists to all. She yielded to Emma Swan.

She bites her tongue swiftly. Hard but not so hard that it’s noticeable. She’s mastered that art.

She looks Emma Swan square in the eye. Bold and brave.

“Emma,” she tries, her voice already more formal than she was hoping for. She was aiming for solemn. “I wanted to thank you, again, for inviting me along to dinner. It’s generous of you.”

Emma isn’t fiddling with her hands so much as she is actually holding on to the table top between them.

“There’s no way the kid would be enjoying himself without you right now,” Emma says. Regina would take the time to think over on Emma’s tone, but her words hit her straight to the heart.

So Emma has in fact only invited her along to make Henry happy. Stabbed.

It’s a noble thought nonetheless, all to Emma’s honor. “I appreciate your show of kindness. I don’t think I deserve it after what happened over lunch last week,” Regina says, her voice as sober and unwavering as she can manage it. “I would like to apologize for cornering you the way I did.”

She’s apologized to Emma Swan. Even her magic is rippling under her skin. Crackling with need to let go of all the bottled-up anguish that has been built between them by their imposed distance. 

By Emma’s need to be away from her. By her best attempts at respecting her.

“It’s okay,” Emma starts, “I should have never taken him from you in the first place and weakened your,” she looks up as Regina observes her jaw work, searching for her word, “your position in his and everybody else’s eyes.”

“Emma—” Regina starts.

“No, really,” Emma says, sounding so earnest, Regina finds herself wanting to soothe the white knuckles of Emma’s grip. “I don’t know shit about being a parent and all this Christmas stuff, but you’ve been helping me along more than you had to these past months, and I understand why you’d want him.”

She would interject that this lack of capacity, as true as it may be, doesn’t justify her own lack of respect, patience and trust in Emma and their—well, their whatever.

She would interject, but Henry chooses this moment to return, and so does Red, who, Regina suspects, has been waiting for the opportune moment to bother them.

“Here are your shakes, guys.” She smiles. In fact, Regina almost decides she smiles particularly to her. “The rest’ll be ready in just a minute.”

Henry smiles brightly, thanks Red, and takes a big long sip of his milkshake through his straw before shivering and shaking his head quickly.

He grimaces and Emma laughs. Again. So fondly. “Dude, brainfreeze!”

“You do it.” Henry mock pouts, “I want to see your face when it hits.”

Emma obliges him, the end result being a loud shudder and a very scrunched nose. “Haaa, it hurts my teeth and my brain,” she accuses, “not fair.”

They both look at her expectantly.

“Absolutely not,” Regina says, intertwining her fingers to show her resolve.

“Then I reserve the right to dip my fries in my shake.” Emma looks at her from underneath her lashes, all mischief and defiance. “Goes for the kid, too.”

She doesn’t have the time to respond, for Henry is much too much her son and knows to take a victory when he gets one.

“Mom, have you seen all the scratches on Emma’s face?” Henry asks.

As a matter of fact, she has. They look fiery red and fairly recent, on each side of her face, going down from her scalp to her cheeks, and then again on the sides of her throat.

She hadn’t dared ask.

Emma elbows him but it doesn’t stop Henry from blurting, “Duchess did that to her.”

“Duchess?” Regina lifts an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Henry goes on, ignoring Emma, “Duchess got stuck in the tree in Mrs. Pottermore’s front yard—”

“Again,” Emma interrupts him. “She does that, like, once every couple of weeks or so. Likes to hunt birds or something. Anyway, you’d think that with the number of times she got caught up there, she’d give it up and go for mice instead,” Emma explains, as if she feels obliged to justify the need for her to climb trees and rescue cats in them other than her good heart.

It’s really not a Sheriff’s duty to help with that particular issue.

“Anyway,” Henry says, waving Emma’s interruption with his hand, “usually Emma gets up there, although she did fall a few times—”

“Kid,” Emma warns, as if she could take his burger or milkshake away.

“Yeah, yeah.” He actually grins, before taking another long sip at his drink, almost draining it. “So, usually, Emma gets up there and Duchess is quite happy to see her, being stuck and all, so she doesn’t make it too complicated for them both to get down the tree in one piece.”

“What happened this time?” Red asks, carrying a tray full of burgers, fries, and a new milkshake for Henry.

“Well,” Henry deadpans, “she squeezed Duchess too hard.”

“Oh, that would do it.” Red shakes her head at Emma.

“I fail to see the correlation between cause and effect,” Regina interjects, slightly puzzled. She probably could work it out, but there’s a juicy, cheesy, lovely burger sitting in front of her.

And Emma is blushing so hard her scratches are almost fading.

“Oh, I failed to see the correlation all right,” Emma grumbles.

Red chuckles. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Ems, you couldn’t have known.”

“Yeah,” Emma pouts at her friend, “easy for you to say, you’re not the one with a sore back, bruises and scratches everywhere.”

Regina is about to ask Henry to fill her in when he decides to do so on his own, looking directly at her. “Duchess is pregnant, Mom, and when Emma grabbed her, she squeezed her too hard so Duchess got mad, scratched Emma, and Ma fell from the tree.”

“I suppose both you and Duchess got a clean bill of health before being allowed home?” Regina asks, not needing to hear it to know that Emma didn’t get herself checked out at the hospital.

“I took Duchess and Mrs. Pottermore to Doc Arturo,” Emma says, looking at her sheepishly. “He gave her an ultrasound and said the kittens were fine.”

She takes a sip of her milkshake. “He cleaned me up too, said I ought to use some warm stuff on my back and not climb trees for a while.”

“Arturo knows his way around animals,” Regina smiles, “and people.”

Arturo has always been gifted with animals. And humans. He used to tell her, in the beginning, when she was still at White Castle—when she wasn’t deformed by hatred, by revenge, by the darker side of her magic—he used to tell her that most problems with animals originate with their humans. So it was important to deal with the human in order to heal or manage the animal.

He had followed her, still, to her Dark Tower. But they hadn’t been friendly anymore. He hadn’t shared with her any more of his secrets and wisdom. He had only understood that, no matter how dark her heart, her anger, her hatred, she wouldn’t let harm come to animals and magical creatures alike. 

So, much like she had done Marika Floran, the herbalist—the woman who had looked after her when she was in need, who had been the gentle lover she had needed when all she had known was abuse—she had given Arturo grounds, resources, and left him to his work in peace. They’ve been nodding to each other, these past months. He was always a graceful and compassionate man.

She’s almost expecting one of them to ask her why she doesn’t call him Doc Arturo, as they all tend to do, but Red interrupts her thoughts and the moment. “That’s great news, and on that note you all should eat your food before it gets cold and Granny scolds me.”

Regina puts her salsa inside the bun of her cheeseburger, watching Henry imitate her from the corner of her eye. She also sees that Emma is quite curious about the fact that he’s lathering the thing with gusto, not at all phased by its hotness. Granny’s salsa is no joking matter. Emma knows this because she’s experienced it at her own expense this past summer, much to Henry and Regina’s amusement. Neither of them mind it, she’s taught him to eat fiery ingredients since a very young age, but he’s always milder when they’re with Emma. Now that she reflects on it, maybe he doesn’t wish for his birth mother to feel left out, even about the details.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, he has no issue being generous with the salsa and preparing his burger the way he really enjoys it.

She smiles at him, and steals a fry from his plate.

“Moooom,” he whines, “I’m not ten anymore, you can eat your own fries.”

“Yours are better,” she says, dipping the fry in what’s left of her salsa juices.

“Besides you’ve ordered your own, for once,” he smirks. “You have no excuses. You’re not even eating one of your salads.” He takes a long sip of his second milkshake.

“Are you calling me boring?” she asks, amused. She takes a decent bite of her burger.

“He wouldn’t dare,” Emma interjects.

“Oh, but he would, Miss Swan,” Regina answers with poise. “Unlike many, he knows I won’t ruin his happiness even if it is the last thing I do.” She’s used the Evil Queen’s voice, and maybe it’s too early, maybe it’s simply not funny—although she could swear Red is snickering in the far range of her hearing capacity—but they’re both looking at her like deer caught in headlights.

This is going so well.

She busies herself with her cheeseburger and so do Emma and Henry. It feels probably longer than it really is, but she loathes herself for having brought about this uneasy silence. She doesn’t really dare look up, but she does sigh. Dejected.

“Mom?” Henry asks.

“Yes, mijo,” she promptly answers him, looking up, glad for the reprieve.

“Do you think it would be all right with you if I went to the movies with Theo and Grace during break?”

“I don’t see why not, Henry, but it might have to be a weekend or in between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, because I’ll be working up until Christmas Eve.” Regina looks at Emma for good measure, but she doesn’t think, that she will be able to take the children, unless it is organized on Emma’s days off. “It also depends on what movie it is.”

“We’ve been reading Tolkien in English Lit. We’d like to go see the new installment of The Hobbit together. And actually Grace’s dad’s got tickets for the premiere evening show and would like to take all three of us.”

“Jefferson wants to take you to the movies?” Emma’s tone is even more worried than hers would be if she had actually had time to answer.

“Yes?” Henry asks, obviously unsure if he’s done something wrong. “Mrs. Cloverfield said Theo could go, as long as he behaved with Grace’s dad. I’ll behave too.”

“I know you would, kid, it’s just Jefferson I’m worried about,” Emma supplies for him.

“Why?” Henry asks again, this time there’s a note of reproach in his voice. “Mr. Hatter was very unhappy during the Curse because Grace was with her foster family and couldn’t remember him. But now they’re together, and they’re happy. Grace is spending the holidays with him for the first time, and they’ve worked out a system so she can still visit with her other family when she wants to. They’re going there for Christmas brunch, and then they’re going to Granny’s party on Christmas Day evening.”

“Did Grace tell you all this?” Regina asks him.

“Actually, Mr. Hatter was really nervous about talking to Grace again after the Curse broke, and Grace felt really bad because of her foster family. So, one day after school, I arranged for them to meet at the bus stop by Granny’s. That’s how they reunited. Grace and I have been friends since. I see them both quite often at the bus stop or after school.”

“That was a generous and kind thing to do, Henry, I’m proud of you,” Regina says. “I also think that since Mrs. Cloverfield feels confident enough to let Theo go, I don’t see why you couldn’t.” 

“Thanks, Mom,” Henry says, before remembering that Emma hasn’t confirm her approval as well. “Is it okay, Emma?”

Regina gazes into Emma’s worried eyes, willing to soothe her.

Jefferson does not bear Regina much affection, she supposes, but in their history together, he knows just as she does that he was the one to strike first and betray their friendship. She is not in any way ready to mend that bond, but maybe their children will manage to bring enough cordiality between them that they can be civil and courteous, for their sakes.

She doesn’t know what Emma has against Jefferson, however, and that would worry her more if she didn’t trust the absolute adoration Jefferson has for his daughter. If Grace likes Henry, then Henry is in no danger from Jefferson.

That is what she is willing Emma to understand from their silent communication. It seems to work.

“Yeah, kid,” Emma says. “Bunch of popcorn and The Desolation of Smaug? I’m actually jealous. I’ll have to go see it.”

“I can go twice,” Henry supplies, as if anyone had any doubts.

“I’d like that,” Emma tells him with a warm smile before looking up to Regina for a moment.

Regina returns to her burger, glad that the issue seems resolved and that Emma and herself are actually managing to show some trust in each other when it comes to their co-parenting. Emma has changed. She’s doing much better at boundaries, authority too. Regina isn’t the ‘bad guy’ and she’s appreciative that she also gets to be the ‘cool’ parent.

Emma also returns to her food, but, after a couple mouthfuls, Regina realizes that Henry is fiddling with his fries, having abandoned his plate.

Worry takes hold of her swiftly but she restrains herself to ponder for a couple of minutes, occupying herself with her food and drink. Red has added a dash of chili powder to hers, paired with the cinnamon and it is delicious. She wonders what is on Henry’s mind of course, and observes him, as he seems to be wavering between speaking up or not.

Being a mother is the most difficult thing she’s ever done. It’s also the most beautiful one. Henry is more important than anything else. She fights for him, she would die for him. Being a mother also means trying very hard to repress her urges to be like her own mother. At times. She usually doesn’t need to make a conscious effort, but she also reminds herself every day that she was the mother who lied to him about herself and who he is, his whole life. No matter her intention. She lied. She manipulated. Just like Mother.

She wants Henry to be his own person, just as badly as she wished it for herself all those years ago and that became a monstrosity birthed from her own heart, no matter the outside help and nudges along the way, which cost a hefty price to too many people. Innocent or not.

“What’s the matter, cariño?” Regina encourages him to speak, but firmly decides she will not push him if he refuses to say.

“I was wondering,” Henry says, voice soft with hesitation. “I was wondering about what we’re doing for Christmas.”

Regina is focused on him. The crown of his head really, because he’s still intensely looking at his plate.

She’s about to tell him that she and Emma haven’t reached a decision yet when Emma blurts, “You’re spending Christmas with your mom, kid.”

Emma keeps on eating her fries, finishing her burger with one last big bite too while Regina lets relief flood her. She’s getting her wish granted. A wish which shouldn’t be one. Having her son for Christmas shouldn’t be a privilege she has to fight for. At least not after the ordeals they all went through and the difficult past couple of years.

Still, she’s glad she doesn’t need to fight with Emma and damage their relationship further. She doesn’t have much time to ponder if this pleasant victory and gesture are going to cost her anything because, somehow, although Henry’s instant reaction was a disarming grin, he is now sporting a concerned and sad expression.

“But Ma,” he says, using that still fresh expression he’s kinda-sorta adopted for calling Emma his mother, too, “what about you? What are you going to do for Christmas?”

Yes, what is Emma going to do for Christmas? Regina would like to know. Especially after that disastrous Thanksgiving and being fairly certain Emma wants nothing to do with her parents at present. Things may change, but, somehow, she doubts it.

Emma shrugs. “I’m taking Christmas Eve and Christmas Day’s shifts at the station. I’ll have Dispatch forwarded to my cell so that Martha and Jayce can have the time off and be with their families.”

Jayce Hangman, or Prince Jayce, younger brother of Eric Hangman, or Prince Eric of the Archipelago of Nacre. The Little Mermaid’s Prince. How many more lives has she ruined?

Jayce is Emma’s new Deputy Sheriff. After Neverland, Emma had a talk with David, and the council sided with her when she put it to them to decide whether or not father and daughter should keep working together. The Savior only stated, that if she were to resume her functions, she didn’t want to. Regina thought that to be one of the most mature decisions Emma ever made. Especially because it was one of the first discussions of a personal nature not concerning Henry that they had after their return to a normal life.

It’s not unrealistic that Emma would be kind hearted and generous enough to do this. She likes to lead by example, they both do. Mrs. Cloverfield always gets the entirety of Theo’s vacation time. It has been thus since long before the Curse was broken.

However Regina suspects that Emma doesn’t wish to spend more time with her parents than she has to. Not after their news which Emma has yet to open up about. To her at the very least.

Also, something tells her Christmas isn’t Emma’s favorite holiday, if she has one.

“But that can’t be it!” Henry is not hiding his upset at the news. “You can’t just be alone at the station or something on Christmas.”

“I’ll be fine,” Emma says, a certain note of closure to her tone, “really.”

Regina doesn’t have the time to think about her dislike of the idea that Emma will be spending Christmas alone before Emma speaks again.

“Besides, if it’s okay with your mom of course.” Emma looks to her softly, almost pleadingly, then focuses back on Henry. “I’m supposed to take you to Snow and David’s house on Christmas Day afternoon so you can be with them. They’d like you to spend the night and some of the Day after Christmas too. Oh and Neal will be there, and stay for dinner so you can visit with him if you’d like. But only if you’d like and if Regina’s all right with that.”

She’s not all right with that at all.

She was prepared to relent and allow some time to the Charmings so they could see their grandson and she did know that Henry would probably want to as well. But Neal Cassidy spending Christmas Day afternoon with Henry, and being invited at Snow’s table for dinner? Snow might as well announce to the world that Emma and Baelfire are engaged and that Henry can now be with his real parents.

Absolutely not.

She and Emma are Henry’s real parents.

Neal-fucking-Cassidy has no business being around Emma Swan anyway.

How could Snow allow in her house the creep, the traitor who abandoned her daughter and his own unborn child to the wolves—worse, to years in prison—after he literally took advantage of her?!

He does not deserve her son, or Emma in his life. He would only deserve a well placed fireball or two, if she was given the last word on that matter.

“May I go, Mom?” Henry-niño is giving her his best big puppy-dog eyes. “It won’t ruin our time, I swear! There’ll still be left-overs on the next day when I come home. We can still play and watch movies in PJs, but I could also do that with Gramps and Grams, and Emma doesn’t have to work the day after Christmas, right?”

Emma shakes her head, confirming Henry’s assumption.

Regina is positively boiling with fury and thrumming with magic. Emma must feel it as well because Regina can see her chest rising and falling rapidly. She can see Emma swallowing repeatedly. She can see Emma’s eyes glow with the deep blue of her own magic. Magic she barely controls still. Even if they’ve been working on that since they got back from Neverland.

Red is by their side once again. She actually sits by Regina, much to her surprise.

It has the intended effect, surely, because Regina manages to take a deep, calming breath. The growing purple shade of her vision recesses, and so do the blue rims of Emma’s pupils.

Red’s hand is on her thigh under the table.

This girl.

Regina only notices then that she is holding onto it tightly.

“I was going to ask you to Granny’s party at the Diner on Christmas Day anyway,” Red says gently. “You can try my awesome eggnog, and chill with Kathryn and Frederick.”

She clears her throat, turning her entire attention to her son. “Would it make you happy to go, Henry?”

“Yeah,” he says, not at all oblivious to what has just happened, “but only because you and I get to spend Christmas together, Mom.”

She smiles at him, biting her tongue again to stop the tears now swelling her eyes from falling. “Then you should go and enjoy yourself.”

She feels Red’s thumb stroke the back of her hand.

Regina watches Emma’s frown grow deep as her jaw tightens. The misery and sorrow she’s noticed in the usually vibrant, maybe even defiant eyes, resurgent.

She knows she’s done the right thing, but oh how it has cost her.

What is this agony she and Emma are drowning in when they’ve been doing so well before? When it is Yule, her favorite season. When it is the time for a Christmas Spirit she’s learned to bestow—even on the oblivious people of Storybrooke—since Henry came into her life.

Henry offers her a smile that she returns. Her Little Prince, her salvation. Unconditional.

For the first time, it doesn’t ease the ache in her chest.

She must find a way to Emma.

 

* * *

 


	3. Slow Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a week before Christmas, snow has been falling hard and Regina has arranged to meet Emma at the pier on the bench they’ve got used to sit on together. She’s decided to invite Emma to spend Christmas morning with her and Henry, and hopes to get through to her.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanking the usual suspects for editing and proof reading the chapter.
> 
> C.
> 
> PS | You can find me over on Tumblr. and Twitter @Paradoxalpoised.

 

* * *

 

Regina takes careful steps on the heavy layer of snow covering the wooden pier.

It’s no matter that Eric’s people keep shovelling it away, using the snow-pushers the city is more than happy to lend them to attach to their heavy machinery. She’s even seen Eric himself on the pier’s ocean walk, shovelling and spreading salt, probably so as not to damage the wooden slats underneath the big wheels of a tractor.

She mirrors Emma’s shoeprints, enjoying the crunching sounds of snow under her booted feet. She’s trying to be quiet, slowly approaching Emma’s silhouette which she can discern ahead. Emma’s sitting on their bench. Looking away, far into the horizon. Tightly folded into herself. Cold.

Regina isn’t surprised. It’s a week before Christmas. Only Emma Swan would sit in the snow in her usual jeans, boots and red leather jacket. A beanie hat and a scarf her sole armor.

She grants herself a private and small smile, satisfied that she thought to bring the hot drinks she’s carrying. There’s a cup of her homemade apple cider for herself, and Emma’s favorite hot chocolate with the cherished cinnamon, and the dash of her special chilli powder that Emma can never really spot but always has her asking for more. More than she does at Granny’s.

Their bench.

They do that with each other now. Since Neverland.

They sit together on their bench. On the pier. Facing the horizon of the Atlantic Ocean. With suns, setting or rising. With moons, crescents or full. With stars. And the seagulls. One cannot forget the seagulls who seem to love bearclaws as much as Emma does.

They sit together.

It began with awkward silences. With watching Henry play around in the sand or throw the frisbee to Pongo who seems to enjoy bringing it back to Regina the most. With very small talk, mostly work related. Nothing personal, nothing that could brew a fight.

Then it became a habit, summer helping. With ice-coffee, ice cream and laughter. A lot of laughter. Even hers at times. Never Hers anymore. Laughter, late in evenings full of early stars and BBQ. Of cold beer nursed in Emma’s hand until drops of condensation fall in the nape of Henry’s neck to make him shriek and run away. In her own neck that one time she didn’t shriek but instead pushed Emma off the railing of the pier and they both ended up in the water fully clothed. Delight.

They sit together.

Finally, it turned into their safe place. Theirs. Henry didn’t have to be their buffer anymore. They started sitting together. Without him. Without Pongo, Archie and the frisbee. Without Kathryn, Frederick or Red.

They opened up to each other. One unplanned bit of substance at a time. Personal things. Past things. Moments of contentment that neither of them have brought up. It’s quite like them. To be friends who pretend not to be aware of the very fact that they are, to all intents and purposes, close to one another. Ostriches.

They do that with each other now. Since Neverland.

Intimacy.

Not mentioning it.

Feelings.

Not admitting them.

Careful touches, comfortable silences, discreet smiles. 

Not refusing them.

On their bench. At the house. At the office.

Running. Both of them. The instant that commitment might be lurking round the corner. Emma is simply too fleeting to apply any pressure to. Regina values what they have. She enjoys it. She has no intention of losing it to the weight of a label she has no idea what to name. It would ruin them.

“Emma?” she calls to a sniffling Emma.

“Hey,” Emma answers dreamily, turning her head to look up at Regina. She wipes at her nose with the sleeve of the jumper inside her leather jacket. Much like Henry-niño would. Regina chooses not to scold her, however.

“You look frozen,” Regina can’t help but chastise. She hands Emma her to-go cup. 

“Mmm,” Emma hums, deeply inhaling the scent of chocolate mixed with spices. “You read my mind.” She wraps her hands around the hot cup and ignores Regina’s worry. “The snow is pretty, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Regina says, “but it’s cold. You should cover better.”

Emma shrugs. “I’m good.”

With blue fingertips and lips, red nose and cheeks on pale, pale skin. Absolutely fine.

She’s once again reminded how well she chose when it came to Emma and Christmas shopping. Emma needs her first present badly. The second one is more—she went on a whim and bought Emma perfume. Expensive, haute-coûture eau de parfum which will suit her marvellously. She has the means, that’s not what bothers her.

What bothers her is that perfume means branding. What bothers her is that it doesn’tbother her at all to brand Emma with a scent she has chosen for her.

She sighs and sits next to Emma on their bench. Their legs not quite touching, but close enough that Regina hopes she’s sending warmth in Emma’s direction.

What’s done is done. Emma won’t be the worse for it. It’s Paco Rabanne. Maybe she’ll even be happy to be given a sign that Regina thinks of her. Like that.

She’s thought of her a lot the past couple of weeks. Like that and not. The more time has gone by, the more Regina agrees with Henry-niño that Emma shouldn’t be alone for Christmas. Even if it is somewhat disturbing that Regina would be so inclined as to invite Emma over for Christmas after all the trouble she’s gone through to have the holidays her way.

Emma has visibly been growing uncomfortable in her own skin since Thanksgiving. Regina doesn’t think her discomfort to be estranged to Snow and Charming’s news, though there is more. She’s given Emma ample time to broach the subject of her own volition, but part of her has always known Emma won’t say a word unless she’s pried open. They’re the same in that regard. Oysters.

She marvels anew that Emma’s distress has become so significant to her. She simply cannot stand idle by Emma’s sorrow. She hardly ever could, if she’s honest with herself.

She decides for the gentle approach. “I received your email,” she says, folding a leg atop the other, resting her right hand on the bench while holding her cup in the left. She takes a sip of her apple cider. “I know a boy who is going to be over the moon on Christmas morning.”

She’s smiling as she looks to the side of Emma’s face, but that smile doesn’t ease the worry in the usually vibrant, maybe even defiant eyes she sees when Emma turns her upper body to face her.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Emma’s anguish bleeds in her entire demeanor. “I know it’s too much. I mean I have no idea what he’s used to, but I thought, with a mom like you, he must be used to getting a lot of stuff and—”

“It’s fine,” Regina interrupts her, hesitant to touch her for comfort. “He’s been through hell. We’ve been through hell. There’s been enough violence, enough danger.” She pauses. Weary. “He’s been brave, he’s been strong and so so good. He was ready to sacrifice his heart for us, Emma. Neverland changed him forever.” She tries to exhale the heaviness of the memories assailing her. “He can be spoiled, it’s fine.”

“‘kay,” Emma says, focusing on her hot chocolate for a moment. “So, if I told you I bought him an iPhone and put his plan on mine, you wouldn’t mind?”

“No, I wouldn’t mind,” Regina smiles, again, wishing the hot cider would relax her. “I might actually say that’s a great idea. It’s about time both of us knew his whereabouts at all times.”

Emma lets out a small chuckle. She leans back on the bench, leaving her left hand resting on the seat next to Regina’s.

“What I would mind, however,” Regina chances, “is our son opening his presents without you.”

Emma ducks her head. Shy.

“I know you have a lot on your mind,” Regina carries on, “I also know that Christmas—well, that you’ve certainly not enjoyed a Christmas the way Henry-niño and I celebrate it.”

“I’m not exactly a Christmas person,” Emma says.

What she means, Regina thinks, is that she’s an orphan. That she hasn’t got the first clue what Christmas feels like. What the spirit of Christmas is like. She hasn’t got the first clue of what to do and how to be. All Emma thought that she could do is give Regina what she wanted—in this case, Henry—and to shower him with presents, because that’s what she must be imagining.

A tree, a pile of presents for the children in the house, maybe even the grown-ups, stupid jumpers, food, a football game or some Hallmark reruns. Superficial.

Regina has no doubt Emma has seen the outside of what a commercial Christmas is. She doubts she’s seen the inside of one, let alone what a real Christmas feels like. With the people you love and choose. With your favorite of everything. With affection and a sweetness that isn’t just in the air. With a feeling of home, and belonging. Delight of another kind.

She’ll be damned if Emma spends one minute of her son’s magic morning without him when both his parents live in the same town.

“Nevertheless,” Regina tells her firmly, “it would be Henry’s and my pleasure if you joined us for Christmas.”

Emma kicks a bit of snow with the point of her boot. Their hands are so close, Regina can feel Emma’s magic calling hers.

“I gotta work at the station,” Emma tries.

“I know you have to be there on Christmas Eve,” Regina says, “but you can come over on Christmas Morning, as long as you forward dispatch to your cell. The building is closed, and that includes the station.”

“I don’t know—” Emma sounds anxious and guarded.

“Think about it as another present for Henry, then.”

“Yeah, but—” 

“Don’t make me beg, Miss Swan.”

Emma doesn’t say anything for a long time.

For a long time, she gazes at Regina, who tries her best not to break eye contact.

For a long time.

Then she feels fingers, maybe two, intertwine with her gloved ones on the seat of the bench. She feels the warmth of their magic run under their skins in a harmonious thrum.

Emma cocks her head back to the side, eyes closed. A sigh escapes her lips, making a small cloud of condensation. Relief. Pleasure.

Regina can feel it, too. It’s soothing her nerves.

“Emma,” she only but whispers, “talk to me.”

She leaves her cup aside to scoot closer to Emma and take her hands in both of hers, folding them in her lap.

Emma doesn’t resist in any way. She actually relaxes slightly and lets her head rest on Regina’s shoulder.

She could say that they do that with each other now. Since Neverland.

But they don’t. Not this close. Not when they’re both aware that what’s between them actually is.

Rubatosis. Or the unsettling awareness of one’s own heartbeat. 

Regina’s heart is galloping fast. She takes the time to will it into a soft murmur. A reassuring pulse, that their magic follows. It’s lulling them both.

“I don’t know what to say,” Emma finally answers. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Wherever you want, querida,” Regina tells her, realization of the affection she’s given hitting her after it’s left her mouth.

“I know you want me to talk about it,” Emma says quietly, “about the baby.”

Regina oh-so-carefully kisses the crown of Emma’s head then rests her cheek there.

“If that’s what’s bothering you to the point that you’re retreating into yourself all over again and debating where to run next, then, yes,” Regina says gently, so as not to antagonize Emma, “I do.”

“There’s not much to say,” Emma starts, the embers in her voice born from a visceral anger and not the intimacy of their position. Regina can feel it heating up beneath her skin. “They want another kid so they can have what they didn’t get to have the first time around.” She shrugs. “Like you did with Henry. A real baby to raise. Not a street rat like me.”

“A diamond in the rough,” Regina murmurs. She’s paraphrasing Aladdin, not at all surprised that it would be the fairytale character Emma would choose to associate herself with. “Emma.” She lets Emma’s name trail in the cold air. She removes her gloves. “Give me your other hand, you’re freezing.”

When Emma allows her to hold both her hands, Regina closes her eyes and focuses on her magic. She floods their bond with warmth, using Emma’s fingers as a point of entry. She feels the weight of Emma’s body sink into her.

Emma shudders and moans her appreciation.

“Your parents love you, idiotic as they are,” she goes on, not wanting to show how the closeness and scent of Emma’s body in hers are indeed affecting her. “They have no idea how to deal with you as their child, that much is obvious, but it doesn’t mean they want to replace you.”

“They want a new baby. I mean I suppose they weren’t gonna stop with one kid, even back in your world, but seriously, since the Curse broke, this last year has been a roller coaster. We didn’t get a chance to—I don’t know.”

“To take your time, realize you are in fact Snow White and Prince Charming’s daughter and get to know each other,” Regina supplies. “Get to become a real family.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, taking a breath before she ventures, “like with Henry and you.”

Regina slightly turns her head again so as to kiss Emma’s forehead. “Yes, like that.”

They have become a family. Their own little nucleus of time spent together, tastes learned, tempers and personality discovered in depth. Regina doesn’t feel the urge to erase the feelings, the attachment developed between them anymore. If anything, it simply amazes her, the place Emma now has in her family, but moreover, in her heart.

Love.

There are many shapes of love, Regina reflects. Love nonetheless.

They do that with each other now. Since Neverland.

Emma has made her place in her life. She had believed it for the worst, but it turns out she was wrong, however rare that is. She was wrong. Emma belongs. Emma is dear to her. Darling.

Emma almost imperceptibly nuzzles at her neck, thin, warm lips grazing the skin of her throat when she speaks again. “This whole fairytale business has been insane. Being the savior. Being their daughter. The princess thing.”

Emma’s sigh against her skin triggers a shiver. Regina recovers by stroking the top of Emma’s hand with her thumb. Much needed support, she tells herself. Comfort. White lies. She barely aspires to hide her desire to touch Emma anymore. She lacks the spine.

“I just thought they’d wait a little.” There must be tears rolling from Emma’s eyes, there’s wetness on her skin. “I thought they’d try more.” Emma’s voice is strangled when she finishes in a trembling breath, “With me.”

She sniffles twice, while Regina thinks of what to do and say, albeit making sure that Emma doesn’t move away from her in embarrassment.

“I can always hit them with fireballs until they understand the pain they’re causing you,” Regina deadpans, giving a chance to humour so that Emma can keep some form of dignity.

Emma lets out a broken laugh. “I don’t think they’d get the message.”

Neither does Regina. She’s loath to admit, but she knows that unless Snow is explicitly told she’s being self-centered and completely oblivious to Emma’s feelings, she won’t put two and two together. Which is precisely what is hurting Emma the most. That her own mother can’t see for herself the damage she’s causing. That her own father doesn’t have the balls to tell his wife what he definitely suspects. That there would need an intervention for there to be clarity and understanding between them.

Regina knows only too well how it feels like. And that, in Emma’s mind, this disinterest translates into a lack of care. It feeds into her abandonment issues. Into all of her insecurities. Frankly, Regina is still stupefied that neither Snow nor David have the first clue as to the fact that Emma has been putting up a well practised masquerade to allow them their happiness, their glow. All the while being miserable.

The orphan in the snow. A beanie hat and a scarf her sole armor.

Regina wants to say that it will be okay. That she’ll go pound the message into the idiots if she has to. That Emma won’t be pushed aside. That her feelings won’t be brushed away by this new arrival. She wants to say many things but she knows better than to give Emma empty words and promises she may not be able to keep.

She breathes in small huffs of anger parallel to Emma’s forehead, her cheek resting against the fuzzy wool of Emma’s hat. She tries to calm herself, sending waves of warmth and hopefully comfort to Emma through their magical feed.

They remain thus for some time. Regina doesn’t try to keep track. Light is diminishing. Snow has started slow falling again. Emma sniffles here and there. Her tears dry at some point.

Eventually Emma lifts her head from the crook of Regina’s neck. Cold harshly replaces the weight of her head on Regina’s shoulder and chest.

Emma clears her throat. She fleetingly looks at Regina, eyes darting away as much as catching a look Regina hopes translate kindness.

“I should go, It’s getting late. Henry is going to wonder where you are and eat the furniture in despair,” she says, trying humour herself.

Regina smiles to her, both her hands still holding fast to Emma’s. “Say you’ll come be with us for Christmas.”

Emma closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Regina likes Emma’s laugh, her dimples when she smiles, even that smug one of hers. She likes her antics, her clumsiness and simple authenticity. But, as Emma’s eyes are closed, dried paths from her previous tears beginning at the end of her long lashes, Regina finds it utterly difficult to deny the breathtaking beauty of Emma, painted in her sadness.

It calls to her soul.

“‘kay,” Emma lets out with the breath she was holding.

Emma opens her usually vibrant, maybe even defiant eyes. Soft and sad. The look Regina knows well because she’s put it there herself.

She’s taken somehow. Caught between the words on the tip of her tongue and the kiss on the tip of her lips.

Regina can’t let go of those eyes. Only when Emma is leaning over to her and oh-so-softly kissing her cheek does she shake out of her daze.

“I’m gonna go now,” Emma says next to her ear. “Thank you. For everything.”

She stands, sniffling one last time, letting her hands fall from Regina’s as she walks around their bench.

Away.

Regina puts fingertips to the cheek where Emma has kissed her.

Emma doesn’t once turn around.

Regina doesn’t leave their bench until the slow flurries of snow have covered Emma’s tracks.

 

* * *

 


	4. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s early on Christmas morning when Emma arrives at the Mills’s mansion. Regina is gradually accepting how much she had anticipated Emma’s presence and how she is content to have her family gathered for her favorite time of the year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has decided to become slightly longer than I had anticipated. So instead of five chapters, it has now six chapters, which as you know, dear Dev, I like very much better. I hope it will keep on pleasing you, since Easter is around the corner and I have been quite slow with your Christmas story.
> 
> Think of it as chocolate?
> 
> C.
> 
> PS | Thanking the usual suspects for editing, and letting you know you can find me on tumblr. and Twitter @Paradoxalpoised

 

* * *

 

“Hey kid!” Regina can hear Emma’s voice from the open front door. Her voice is a bit raw from sleep and lack of coffee.

She sent Henry to greet her. Or rather, he careened into the door from the living room where he’s been setting the table for later, screaming “I’ve got it, Mom!” She simply had mentioned to him that Emma would arrive soon.

“Emma! Feliz Navidad!” His enthusiasm contagious and bringing a smile to Regina’s lips.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas.” There’s some fumbling, Henry’s running to the living room and is back in a flash. Regina can hear the sound of Emma taking her snow boots off. They’ve had so much snow, the most they’ve had in Maine in fifty years, thirty for Storybrooke.

“Come on, Mom is making breakfast and stuff, but now that you’re here, we can do presents.”

Henry has been up since an ungodly hour although he knows full well presents are only opened at dawn. That means he has to wait until roughly 7:00 am. It’s only 6:30 am; Emma has made a big effort.

“Lemme go say hi first, sun’s not even up yet.” Or, more accurately, ‘ _Let me go get my morning coffee._ ’ Regina pours a mug for Emma before she’s even entered the kitchen. She adds cream and sugar to it, with a shot of scalding espresso. Red eye.

“‘Morning, Regina.” Emma zooms in on the steaming mug on the kitchen island waiting for her. “For me?”

Emma’s face is still soft with sleep, her eyes a small green blur. Beside her sleepiness, Emma is wearing what must be her nicest pair of skinny blue jeans and a deep red, stand-up collar cardigan which isn’t cashmere, most likely braided cotton. Warmth and comfort were what Emma was after when she dressed. She looks nice, nice even by Regina’s standards.

“Good morning, Emma.” Regina doesn’t answer Emma’s question. She’s waiting for the—

“Oh.” Precisely.

“It’s a Holiday tradition,” Henry tells her. They have festive mugs with their first names on them. “I have mine, and Mom has one too. It’s for my hot chocolate, but Mom drinks her coffee in it.” He says it like the idea is atrocious and offensive. Some adult ludicrousness. “She got you one, too, we ordered it online. Mine’s the coolest, though, because the reindeer’s nose becomes red when it’s hot.”

“Oh,” Emma says again. She hasn’t looked up at Regina yet. She’s observing Henry and tracing the contour of her name with her fingertip. They picked her an elf mug, with a big yellow jinglebell, the same as that Bug of hers.

“Thank you.” Emma finally looks at her. She’s nervous, Regina realizes, nervous and uncomfortable. A strand of fear seizes Regina’s heart. She feels the dread settle in her stomach. Henry is home with her, willingly. They’ve spent time decorating, planning, cooking together for this very morning. Both wanting for this Christmas to be a move forward from a still very fresh Neverland nightmare. Both wanting for this Christmas morning to be Emma’s best one. She’s dressed casually to make sure Emma won’t feel out of sorts. She’s planned everything in her menu so that Emma will feel thought after. She’s done everything she could so that Emma will feel at home.

Failing now would be a slight. It would cut her deeply. Rejection.

“You’re welcome.” Henry answers Emma. She wants to think he might be oblivious, but then he says, “Did you know all the reindeers are actually girls? I didn’t know, but then when Nicholas told me that Santa doesn’t exist, I started doing research.” A clear attempt to distract his mother from feeling awkward and possibly emotional. Maybe also an attempt to support Regina in her effort to win Emma over on her dislike of Christmas itself.

To win Emma over.

“No, kid, I didn’t know.”

“Isn’t it cool, though?’

“Yeah, it kinda is, when you think about it. Women are badass.”

Regina would have tsked for the language, but Emma’s statement rings true and Henry thinks women being strong is cool. He doesn’t only refer to Emma being the Savior and extraordinary, but other women too. Her too.

“You and Mom are total badasses, the best.” He’s proud.

“Your mom’s the one who rocks the superhero thing best,” Emma tells him. “I just got caught in all this fairytale business because you found me. She’s actually trained to be awesome, I haven’t.”

Henry shrugs. “Coach Knight always says each of us is amazing in our own way as long as we find the courage to put our best stuff forward.”

Regina smiles, her back turned to the two of them, actually taking care of the buñuelos frying—and the French bread soaking for the French toast she plans on serving them in a minute—to allow the fried little balls to cool off in cinnamon and brown sugar. She’s also stirring the thick mix of melted dark chocolate, milk and cream with more spices that make for her best Christmas champurrado.

She’s grateful for the distraction. Dread decides to turn into giddiness. Silliness.

The different scents are mouth watering in and of themselves, but Regina can’t help the pleasant feeling that pools deep in her belly when she feels Emma’s body next to hers, looking over her shoulder.

“Whatever you have cooking smells outrageous,” Emma says, almost in her ear.

Regina shivers. She takes a small, sharp intake of breath. There is no world in which Emma has not felt the effect she’s having. It’s buzzing between them.

“Henry and I decided that you deserve to try our favorite Christmas foods. We just cut back on the heat, so you can eat a little of everything.”

“Or a lot.” Emma looks her in the eye then. “Thank you.” Sincere. Authentic.

“You are most welcome, Emma.” She means it.

Emma is part of their family. Emma is important. Emma.

Not only to Henry. To her.

It may have taken her time to understand it, to accept it, but she has now. She’s come to terms with herself. Emma Swan means more to her than any other after Henry.

It’s simple. It’s terrifying.

“I finished setting the table for lunch, Mamá,” Henry says as he re-enters the kitchen. “Can we do presents now?”

“Nice try, mijo, but we’re having breakfast first.” Regina clears her throat and places the pieces of soaked French bread in the sizzling skillet. “I suppose we can have breakfast in the living room.”

The menu she’s planned is quite typical, of course, but it’s a side of her and Henry’s world she wants Emma to share in. Interestingly enough, half her dishes and baked goods are quite cinnamony and chocolaty, as well as deep fried. To Emma’s taste.

Henry grins and doesn’t need to be told to get some plates out for their breakfast. He even steals a buñuelo and pops it into his mouth with a sound of exaggerated delight.

“Oh, what is that?” Emma asks spellbound as she attempts, slowly, to steal a buñuelo herself, obviously expecting Regina to pat or slap her hand away. She won’t. Instead, she waits for Emma’s reaction. “Oh my God, this is like a donut hole rolled in cinnamon. Or a bearclaw in cinnamon! Even better!” Emma rolls her eyes skyward, “How could you have kept this from me all this time?!” She seems to be blaming Henry. Regina chuckles at his offended grimace.

“I didn’t,” he pouts, “you’re just always getting the same stuff. Plus, it’s a Christmas thing.”

“You can have them any time of year, but buñuelos are definitely a Christmas must-have in most Latino countries.” Then, out of nowhere that she’s aware of, she adds, “But I rolled them into cinnamon because I know you love it.”

Both Emma and Henry look at her with the same expression of bewilderment, although there’s something much more emotional in Emma’s eyes. She’s certainly not going to try and read into that. Actually, she’s going to move right on.

“The French toast is really popular in Puerto Rico on Christmas morning, and we’re drinking champurrado, a hot chocolate popular in Mexico that predates all of the Spaniard Conquistadors and was an Incan and Mayan tradition.” She keeps going, not acknowledging the intensity of Emma’s gaze on her. Not acknowledging the burning of her cheeks. Only remembering to flip the toast in her skillet because of Henry’s worried glances pointed towards the pan.

“What’s for lunch?” Emma asks her then, with a small smile shyly dancing back and forth on her lips. It’s infuriatingly tempting.

“I can’t very well tell you all that I have planned.” Regina focuses on her skillet. “It would ruin the surprise.”

“Consider it my Christmas present, then.” Emma returns to her right side, tipping her head forward to catch her eyes, reminding her of snow falling and a kiss on her cheek, sitting on their bench.

She doesn’t even want to resist.

“Henry and I made pasteles de yuca together yesterday with manioc and Jonah crab Eric caught for me. He said a few weeks back that you love the crab cakes Jayce brings to the Station for his lunch breaks, so I decided to go with crab this year. Pasteles are made in banana leaves, you might have heard of them as tamales?”

She’s blushing. More. Not a chance she can hide it.

“And there’s also bacalao guisado ensalada, cod salsa salad. Eric also provided the cod. This one is a bit spicy, but Henry likes it lot.”

“It’s about the only fish thing I’ll eat, that’s how good it is,” Henry adds.

“I’m gonna have to pull at Jayce’s ears for keeping this special order a secret from me.”

“I doubt he knew.” Regina shakes her head. “Eric is a discreet man and we get along just fine that way.”

Regina likes Prince Eric. She always has, even when they were both younger and stuck at court. She wanted to ride away as fast as she could and he wanted to sail oceans and seas and never touch ground again. As long as he had Ariel with him. Love. Freedom.

Eric, Kathryn, herself. Prisoners of sorts.

“And what’s in the oven?” Emma recalls her to the here and now.

“Lechon asado con mojo.” She smiles at Emma’s smile. She’s known for a while that Emma is partial to anything foreign that comes out of her mouth. Especially what people of this world call Spanish. She’s had to adjust certain words, her syntax still slightly different from what she’s heard over the years, some expressions, too. It doesn’t bother her, though, each country of the Latin Americas has their own Spanish and deviation. She had done a lot of research on the differences of the Spanish language in her many years alone in Storybrooke. She’d realized that Latino countries mostly write the official Spanish of the Spaniards, but people of every languages all over the world take their liberties with the one theirs originated from. She read many books about the history of Spain itself and found out that Spanish is actually Catalan, drawn itself from Latin. She found out how they imperialized South America. What they did to the people there. Her heart is Latina, she learned the Spanish, whether practised in Europe or other countries around the world, that resembles most the language she grew up with back in the Land. The language her father made a point to teach her. The language her mother refused for her to use, favoring what could be called English, which was the most practiced tongue at courts around their world.

She had found it exquisite to freely speak Spanish in this world. She had been very proud to teach it to her son and make sure it was available in every school year curriculum for the children who wanted to learn. Even if they had mostly learned the same thing over and over, it was there. And since the Curse had broken, Henry had confirmed what she had checked right away, children were learning Spanish.

She actually chuckles when Emma tries to repeat after her. “Le…asada con…mojito?”

“There’s no mojito in the house, Miss Swan, only coquito.”

“Okay,” Emma says, her arms crossed over her chest, “explain both.”

And now she’s being ordered around, accepting it willingly. Whatever.

“Lechon asado con mojo is a Puerto Rican dish, pork marinated in citrus, slowly roasted then grilled.” Emma’s eyes reveal her eagerness to taste everything she’s describing, which brings Regina a satisfaction she has grown to enjoy when it comes to Emma and the domesticity of feeding her. “Coquito is the Puerto Rican equivalent of eggnog with coconut milk and rum.”

“Oh, I gotta try me some of that.” Emma seems ready to dip in the coquito in the fridge, but she amends, “Later. Try it later.”

Regina doesn’t respond and moves on, “For dessert, there will be arroz con dulce, a cinnamon rice pudding, and chocolate and salty caramel pie.”

“Oh my God, yes! That’s my absolute favorite dessert since you made it for Kath and Fred’s wedding party!”

Regina remembers very well. Emma’s face had melted in pure pleasure. Orgasmic, if she has to choose a word for it. Only Emma’s manners had stopped her from eating more than a slice of the decadent pie, and Regina had feigned fullness in order to offer her own slice to Emma.

A discreet and gentle gesture returned.

They do that with each other now. Since Neverland.

That it means more than they’ve both let on is another story.

“And wait till you try all the cookies Mom and I baked yesterday,” Henry chimes in. “Bisochos, polvorones, chocolate chips, ginger and molasses, and montecados. It’s cookie heaven.”

“I have no idea what half of those are, kid, and I don’t think I’ve ever had a ginger molasses cookie, but I’m sure they’re all awesome.”

“Totally, it can’t be Christmas without all the cookies. You’ll have to tell Mom what’s your favorite for next year, we’ll bake them for you on Christmas Eve.” He pauses for just a moment. “Maybe you can bake them with us too, it’d be cool.”

“Yeah, it’d be cool,” Emma answers softly.

Regina feels Emma’s eyes on her as she serves a thick slice of French toast onto each plate on the kitchen island.

It would be cool, indeed.

Regina double-checks that she’s turned off all her appliances except for the ovens where her pasteles are keeping warm and her lechon asado con mojo is slow cooking before she grills it later. She’ll have to use the fryer again for the almojábanas she hasn’t mentioned to Emma, but that will wait until the last minute before their lunch.

They move from the kitchen to the living room, where cookies are plated around the room for everyone to help themselves.

Regina and Henry baked larger batches so she can take some with her to Granny’s Yule party, along with the best rendition of her coquito she’s made to date which almost matches her father’s favorite festive drink from her homeland.

If she actually attends, that is.

The fire is crackling in the fireplace. Regina didn’t have to reanimate it much when she first came down, their late evening of dinner and movies keeping enough embers under the ashes to burn the fresh logs she’d brought in.

Henry immediately sits on the carpet closest to their imposing, well-lit Christmas tree. The one they chose with Gepetto. He sits cross legged. The way Emma does. He is already digging in the plate of food in his lap, shovelling French toast and buñuelos in his mouth so fast he chokes on them a little and has to take long sips of his hot chocolate to help the food down.

“Take it easy, kid,” Emma tells him, swallowing some of her hot chocolate herself, “you don’t want to make yourself sick right before opening that mountain of presents.”

Emma is also sitting crossed legged at the farther end of the couch, her plate into her lap and jingle bells mug on the side table to her right. Regina is comfortably sat at the other hand of the couch, legs tightly folded to support her food and her Santa red mug on the left side table of the couch.

She’s eating, but mostly enjoying the look of wonder on Emma’s face. She’s quiet, shy, maybe even sleepy, taking every single thing around her within. Drinking in the ornaments, the lights, the three stockings, the powdered snow decorations on the windows, as if she’s been parched for them her whole life. She eats her food more slowly than Regina expected, but her manners seem deliberate, as if she’s trying very hard not to screw anything up. Dazed but uneasy.

Regina wishes she could do or say something that would help Emma relax. She knows better. Instead, she gives her the space Emma has clearly established and tries not let her insecurities take hesitance and nervousness for personal offence.

“Mamá,” Henry interrupts her gazing, “you finished yet?”

Regina realizes that she’s stopped eating while musing over Emma. They’ve both finished their breakfast and there’s only so much waiting Henry-niño can suffer.

“Yes, mijo,” she smiles at him, “I’m all done.”

“Finally.” He grins and rolls his eyes much like she would. He then changes tone completely. “I’ll just be a minute to bring all that stuff in the kitchen, then.”

He’s not being exemplary out of the goodness of his heart this time, he just wants to get things done faster than he knows Regina will.

She smiles. Christmas was always their favorite.

Regina turns her attention to Emma. “Did you enjoy breakfast?”

“I did,” Emma says, resitting herself a cushion closer to her. “I also enjoyed dinner,” she adds, her tone significantly lower. “Thank you for sending Ruby to feed me. And to keep me company.” Emma takes a breath. “It was nice.”

She prepared containers of their Christmas Eve dinner and went to the diner in the hopes of enlisting Red to repackage her food into their to-go containers and deliver it to Emma, with a bit of her time if she could spare it. She can’t imagine that Red gave her away. She also knows that Emma’s deductive skills are in fact up to the par of her law enforcement role.

Regina hesitates. She could confess. She could. But it would defeat the purpose of what she did. The point wasn’t to receive credit for caring that Emma ate and had company on Christmas Eve. The point was that Emma should feel thought after and that she wasn’t alone, forgotten or left behind while everyone else was spending special time together. Christmas spirit.

“Why, Miss Swan, I don’t know what you mean.” Regina does smile. She feels it warm her already hot cheeks and has to pat down her comfortable yoga pants for imaginary crumbs and wrinkles.

She feels a pressure on her hand in her lap, and she snaps her head up to gaze into Emma’s eyes, shining with something she’s not quite sure how to define. Emma is about to speak again, but Henry zooms past them, stopping only to drop himself on his knees by the tree before looking at them both.

“Now can we open the presents?” he says, short of breath and dramatic of tone.

Emma’s hand has disappeared. If it had been on hers in the first place. Did she dream the careful brush of fingertips on her skin, the caress of Emma’s thumb?

Regina swallows. She knows she needs to speak. She needs to be in the present. She needs to stop the fluttering and rushing of her blood hanging on to the electrical zap of Emma’s magic connecting to hers. Butterflies.

She didn’t dream.

“You’ve been very good, Henry, I think you can go ahead,” she manages to say while looking at Emma, suddenly aware that she’s not just looking at Emma, she’s checking in with her son’s other parent that they are in sync with one another on the matter.

“Knock yourself out, kid,” Emma grants.

She would have thought Henry would have jumped on the opportunity to rip into the first wrapped box with his name on it, but, to her surprise, he actually dives into the piles and fishes out two different boxes. He then stands and approaches the couch.

Suddenly he’s so tall. So grown. The foreshadow of the man he’s going to be.

“This one’s for you, Mom,” he says, handing her a rectangular blue box tied by a yellow ribbon. “And this one is for you, Ma.” He deposits another smaller box in Emma’s hand.

Emma doesn’t say anything for a while. She looks at Henry. She looks at the box in her hand.

Regina thinks that maybe if she opens hers, it’ll jumpstart Emma. She carefully undoes the ribbon that keeps the box closed and that’s when she notices the brand name on it. She doesn’t need to see inside to know what it is, she’s already wonderfully surprised at Henry’s attention.

“Cariño, it’s beautiful.” She’s carefully weighing the elegantly crafted fountain pen in her hand. The body is pearly white, the nib and other metallic parts of the pen are made of a bright copper. It’s imported from France. She arranges her affairs in terms of stationary and penmanship with a quality house in Paris who understand the importance of having the right tools with which to write and are happy to send her what she needs.

Regina is at a loss, looking up to Henry. “How did you manage? This must have cost a fortune, and I’m fairly certain you went through my address book to find Monsieur Dupont’s information.”

“I’ve been working?” He shrugs. “Mostly I’ve done things for Mr Hatter and also Gepetto. He’s getting older, he likes the help and the company, I think.”

“You’ve been working?” She’s dumbfounded enough that she has yet to pull him in a meaningful embrace. She had no idea, she doesn’t think Emma knew either.

“Yeah, that’s how you get money.” He smiles this time. “Although I think Mr Hatter is paying me way too much for what I’ve been doing over there. Which is not that much when I’m not doing homework or just hanging out with Grace. Also Aunt Kath helped me with the ordering and paying with her credit card. I gave her the cash. She actually helped with both your presents.” He then turns to Emma, “Ma? Aren’t you gonna open yours?”

He’s taken to calling Kathryn, Kath, as Emma does. He suddenly added the Aunt word before her name during the summer, on the occasion of Kathryn and Frederick’s civil wedding, when he became Frederick’s second best man and was in charge of the rings. She doesn’t think anyone can manage to have him call Fredrick anything but Coach Knight. Kathryn is now Aunt Kath and Regina loves it. She feels like they belong. More.

“Oh yeah, sure,” Emma says.

She imitates Regina in the care of her unwrapping of his present for her. It’s a smaller square box that can only contain jewelry. Emma wears few accessories. There are the two chains around her neck, one with a ring attached, the other with a swan keychain that she wears as a pendant. Around her wrist, there’s the leather shoelace which belonged to Graham and that they still need to discuss. She has that little daisy flower tattoo as well. Emma Swan definitely wears only the things she deems meaningful, not specifically pretty.

When she lifts the lid of the box in her hands, she too is speechless but for an “Oh.”

“I don’t know if you can wear it at work or not. We crafted the bracelet so that the charms wouldn’t dangle, but we can still make the bracelet longer if you want to add some later.”

“You…you made this?” Emma’s eyes are wet with tears.

“Yeah, with Gepetto. Look.” Henry smiles gently, he’s proud of himself, but Regina doesn’t think he’s noticed how emotional Emma is. Henry sits to her right, leaning in to show her the charms one by one. Regina also leans in, places her hand on the small of Emma’s back. She hopes it will be of comfort. “This one is for the Bug,” Henry says, “this one is your swan, and this one is Mom’s crest, and mine too, I guess. We’ve put a wolf’s head for Ruby, a sword for Gramps, and then Grams’ crest.” He giggles, “I made the cat all by myself, to go with the Sheriff’s star.”

Regina traces circles on Emma’s back. Steady.

She watches Emma run her fingertips over each charm. One fat tear falls on the back of her hand. Regina wants to hold her. It’s strange, not that she wants to, but that it has become such a natural instinct. She flushes her body to Emma’s, wrapping her right arm around her shoulders and pulling Henry to them with the other. They hug for a long time.

“I don’t want you to be sad, Ma,” Henry says. “I’m so sorry that I made you cry.”

“You’re not.” Emma’s voice cracks. “You’re really not.” She clears her throat. Regina watches her pull him into her. “It’s amazing, Henry, I’m so happy you were so thoughtful for me.”

“So you like it?”

“I love it.” She wipes her tears with the hand her bracelet is fastened to. “I can’t believe you made this for me.”

“I wanted you to have something special.” He sits back next to her. “I wanted your first Christmas with us to be the best you’ve ever had.”

“Henry,” Regina chastises as gently as she can, “we don’t want to put pressure on Emma. We can’t assume how she’s celebrated Christmas before. That’s why we agreed to show her our traditions and invite her to share hers with us.”

“I don’t have any,” Emma rushes. “This is the best thing. I never thought I would get to do this with you, Henry, and with you, Regina. With both of you guys. I really can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

Regina fishes out a tissue for Emma to blow her nose. In return Emma blushes profusely. It’s adorable. Enough that she softly kisses Emma’s cheek. Enough that she smiles to her. Enough that she knows she could do this again tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.

“All right,” Emma sniffles, “enough already, those presents aren’t gonna open themselves.”

“You might still have a couple of presents to open, Miss Swan,” Regina whispers in Emma’s ear, leaving her hand on the small of her back, somehow making her claim. Emma rests back into her, their bodies together.

They watch Henry, opening his presents one after the other, comics, a new game system, some PJs, clothes, and then, then he stops.

“Wow!” He looks back to the wrapping paper then up to Emma. “You got me an iPhone?”

“Yeah, your Mom and I think you need to have your own.”

“That’s cool, thanks! I mean, an iPhone!” Henry is looking at it all around pretty much absorbed.

Regina is distracted from Henry by a hand in her lap. “Here,” Emma says.

It’s another iPhone. It’s not wrapped, there isn’t a bow on it. As if Emma is trying to pass her gift off as something of no importance. It is important, though. The phone has a cover, a screen protector, and, when she turns it on, she finds a picture of their little family grinning at her.

“Emma,” Regina lets it trail on her tongue, “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, this is a lot.”

“It’s no big deal,” Emma shrugs. “It was time for your Blackberry to retire. I got one for myself and Henry, obviously you needed one too. I already set it up for you, your number will be switched by tomorrow. I’m on speed dial if you need anything and Henry is too.”

“It is a big deal,” Regina retorts for her ears only. She intertwines their fingers, keeping her iPhone safely tucked under their hands.

It’s obvious Emma doesn’t want to discuss the more than kind and thoughtful gesture. Regina is content to show her appreciation with affection. Emma doesn’t communicate well. She doesn’t handle her feelings well. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel. Or deserve to know she’s appreciated.

Henry is engrossed in his present opening, in his phone and his Christmas morning. He doesn’t remark on his mothers’ position. Regina keeps on smiling. Emma is tranquil now, tucked into Regina, their magic harmoniously coursing through their bodies at the same rhythm.

This is good. It’s them, it’s warm and it’s precisely what they need. Together.

Always.

Always.

Regina’s heart swells. Maybe this doesn’t have to stop. Maybe she doesn’t have to hold on to this little refuge of them as if it were to be lost if she closes her eyes too long.

She feels her heart beat louder in her chest. She feels the magic in their veins run faster. She feels Emma brush her fingers between hers. She feels her own lips pressing small kisses to Emma’s temple.

She wants this. Always.

“Hey Ma,” Henry approaches them. “There’s a present for you.”

He puts her box in Emma’s lap. Emma uses the same care she had before to open Regina’s present. Regina only watches Emma’s features. The small breaths. The swallowing. The darting of the eyes as the wrapping unfolds. The furious batting of her eyelashes betraying her nervousness and her nasty habit of believing she can never be the most important thing in anyone’s world, not even for a moment. The usually vibrant, maybe even defiant eyes, misty with fresh tears Regina will gladly kiss away.

“So soft,” Emma tells her, rubbing the thick, ivory cashmere scarf against her cheek. There’s also a matching beanie hat and a pair of cashmere-lined red leather gloves. “This is heaven.” She sighs. “And they smell so good.”

The perfume bottle is not under the tree. Somehow Regina did not want that present opened in Henry’s presence. She’s looking forward to that moment of intimacy. She’s looking forward to Emma smelling of the scent she has chosen for her.

To be inebriated by it.

“I’m glad you like them. You need to keep warm.”

“Thank you,” Emma smiles at her brightly. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome, Emma.” Regina looks intently at Emma’s earnest. “You are always welcome here.”

Emma nods, holding her things to her heart, the precious bracelet attached to her right wrist.

Henry thanks them both, giving each of them a heartfelt hug before he busies himself taking his own presents upstairs then coming back down to install his new game system.

“You should help him,” Regina suggests, “I’ll go check on our lunch in the kitchen.”

Emma seems a bit reluctant to leave the comfort of their innocent embrace, but Henry’s head rises out from the mess of cables, “Yeah, Ma, come and help me, we can try out the new Need For Speed you got me.”

Regina takes a moment to watch them from the threshold of the living room. Smiling, exuberant, starkingly similar in their mannerisms. Both hers. She’s keeping them.

Her family.

Always.


	5. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Christmas lunch draws near, Regina is struggling more and more to keep a happy spirit, annoyed and sad that Emma and Henry are soon going to leave her to join Snow White, Charming and their special guest, Baelfire. She fights her best to not let jealousy spoil the rest of their joyful time together.
> 
>  

* * *

 

Once she’s in the kitchen, Regina breathes in deeply. She’s quick to check on her roast, flip it in its dish. Take out the chocolate and salty caramel pie from the oven so it can rest. It’s almost ten. They’ve taken their time to eat, open their presents, play around with them. She can hear Henry and Emma’s excited sounds of competition and laughter, playing his video game.

She will join them soon, but she needs a moment to herself. It’s ten. In two or so hours they’ll have the lunch she’s working so hard to make perfect. In four or so hours, Henry and Emma will leave her to join Snow and David. And Baelfire. Or Neal, whichever one is supposed to call him.

It’s not that she would have accepted, or really wanted it, but she did entertain the thought, admittedly, that Snow might extend an invitation to her as well regarding the rest of Christmas day. One would think that after a solid six months of not being at odds with the Charming clan, after saving them all from Peter Pan, back in Neverland, one should be, at the very least, accepted.

She’d given her best effort to step away from the darkness grasping at her heart and soul. Henry had forgiven her. Kathryn and Frederick, Red and Granny, Eric and his brother Jayce, Archie, Gepetto—all had followed in his footsteps and given her room to become their friend anew. Time passing, she had made herself useful to Storybrooke in all the ties and cogs of politics, transmitting her knowledge of how to run the town. Kathryn taking after her had made it possible for them to grow as close as ever.

Her magic was changing. With her intent, her promise. With opening her heart to Emma and teaching her how to use her own. With learning together how to use their magic through their incredible and powerful bound.

Regina had been engrossed in progressively working out the practical details of Henry coming back home to her. With how to allow their nucleus of two to become a nucleus of three, with Emma as his second parent. Arranging time for Emma to visit. Sharing.

She feels confident that Emma and she have established a solid relationship, in their co-parenting, in their blooming friendship. The past summer has certainly been the best she’s ever had in her life. Just like she’s been able to gift Emma Christmas. Emma had gifted her Summer. With beach and ocean, BBQ, walks and treks in the forest, rock climbing, biking, even a couple of nights of camping with Kathryn and Frederick, and Red of course.

Emma had managed, without much else than the magic of her persuasion, no matter her poor eloquence, to have Regina ride a horse again. The thought brings an absent smile to her lips. Oh, to ride again! The wind rushing, engulfing her, flattening her hair and that of her horse, the pounding of hooves, the elation of speed. Freedom.

She’d kept on riding, with and without Henry or Emma. She’d ridden with David on a couple of occasions, Kathryn at least once a week. She had galloped many a time in a madness and rush of adrenaline and endorphins with Red. The wolf. Red, always looking after her now.

She had managed to not lose herself in fear and anguish once the new school year had started and Henry had asked to spend at least one week a month at the loft with Emma after the Charmings had taken up their new residence. She had not been able to refuse. Even if that insecure part of her had wanted to deny him. To hold onto him tightly, the way she used to before. The way that lost him to her in the first place. Emma had known, though. Maybe she had felt it with that sixth sense of hers. She had known how to help keep Regina’s demons away. She’d make sure to show up at the mansion with Henry and pizza on some random evening of their week away from her. She had made a point to invite Regina over for breakfast which, contrary to urban legend, was never a disaster. They’d taken the habit of grocery shopping together every Friday before Henry’s week at Emma’s. And with time, every other week, too.

Emma. Her attentions. Smoothing over most of the bumps in the road Regina has been walking on.

She’s rediscovered what it feels like not to be defensive, volatile and temperamental at all times. She’s rediscovered how to be herself, how to smile and enjoy herself. Not only with Henry, not only in the way they used to be, the two of them, before he brought Emma to Storybrooke, but in her own way.

She’s discovered how to be her own.

She loves it. That. Them. Emma.

She wants them, her, always. So really, Snow trying to push Rumplestiltskin’s son on her daughter? A man who allowed her to be imprisoned for his crimes, and pregnant at that. A man who has spent his life running away from his responsibility. A man who is maybe three hundred years older than Emma, yet still can’t show an ounce of courage. It makes her sick. And for what? To erase her? To have Emma and Baelfire play parent to Henry as if Regina never existed?

Regina can’t help but be insulted at the thought. After all they went through together, after all the effort put in to improve their relationship, which is at least courteous if not warm, this endeavour of Snow is ridiculous and offending.

She does her best not to reflect on what Emma might be feeling. What if she follows her parents’ will? What if she still has feelings for Baelfire? Regina knows in her heart that Henry won’t abandon her for his biological father, or mother for that matter. She is his mother and nothing can eclipse their bond. The fact that Snow is still trying to tear them apart is irritating.

She’s prepared what she will need for her almojábanas—leaving the cheese to reach room temperature—thinking about joining Henry and Emma in the living room instead of isolating herself in the kitchen, working herself up about Snow and her idiotic yet expected behavior. She’ll put their favorite music on, using the vinyl player, and then she’ll lounge on the couch with her two favorite persons in the world. That’s a much better occupation. She can cheer for them and bathe in their joy and the loveliness of their Christmas morning.

Decided, she walks over to her study and fishes an album of Ella Fitzgerald singing Christmas songs from her collection in the library. They’ve already installed the vinyl player on the hi-fi system in the living room the day before. She then makes her way to the living room, amused to find Henry and Emma settled on the rug at the feet of the couch, Henry cross-legged and Emma splayed out, with just enough space between them for Regina’s feet when she’ll sit down on the couch.

Slowly, in Ella’s style, the music fills the room, already warm with the energy in the air. She feeds the fireplace a fresh log, and then obnoxiously walks in front of Emma, blocking her view and kissing Henry with his face in both her hands causing his and his birth mother’s car to crash soundly.

“M-o-o-o-m,” Henry whines.

“Dude, I was so winning this one,” Emma exclaims.

“No, I totally had you in the next lap.”

“Right…”

“You two start over,” Regina interjects. “I’ll just sit here.”

“You sure you don’t want to play?” Emma asks, tilting her head back so she can look up to Regina.

Regina smiles, warm and content. “I’m fine, thank you. I’ll cheer for you.”

“Hey!” Henry looks up to her as well. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

She tousles his hair, amused. “You’re an expert, cariño. Emma needs it more.”

Emma’s smile is vibrant, and it’s not out of petty rivalry. She seems happy. Forgotten, her uneasiness. Gone, her weariness. She seems to still be her shy and slightly nervous self, but not so much that it dampens the mood or that precious smile which reaches her eyes.

Regina sits comfortably, and almost instantly she feels Emma’s weight shifting to rest against her right leg. She smiles. For herself, Henry and Emma obviously engrossed in their game, while she’s engrossed in them. They’re bantering and being playful. She sometimes lets out a little victory cry, encouraging Emma with a squeeze to her shoulder, but as time passes, with Ella soothing her, she finds herself threading her fingers through Emma’s hair, sometimes massaging her scalp, having no recollection of when she started touching her so.

Emma has completely leaned into her leg and hand. She seems to be enjoying her ministrations.

This is good. It feels so right. Regina wants to take a leap of faith and believe. Believe in Emma. Believe in love.

Love.

She reflects on the domesticity of their family. How Emma has grown on her. How Henry seems to accept it without a word. How she wants it. Always, she had promised herself just minutes before.

Love.

Do they do that now?

Does she simply have to muster the courage to speak her heart to Emma?

Does she really need courage? She’s scared, yes. She’s proud, too. Their love isn’t sudden, or is it? Between hate and love there’s only the sharpest edge. She thinks ‘theirs’, because Emma is sitting right here, leaning into her, repressing moans under Regina’s fingertips.

She thinks ‘theirs’ because their magic is singing of love along with Ella Fitzgerald.

“Okay, kid,” Emma says, putting down her controller and stretching her arms before putting one over Regina’s lap as she turns slightly to face him, “I’m done getting my behind handed to me. You’re too good at this.”

“Uh-huh.” Henry’s grin indicates how satisfied with himself he is. “I’ve got skills, I’ll be able to drive a real car soon.”

Regina smiles at him, indulgent. “Maybe in a couple of years, mijo. For now, you’ll have to settle with beating Emma at video games.”

“That’s why I got you other types of games,” Emma adds. “I don’t want you getting obsessed with driving when you still have two years to go before your learner’s permit. Play some superheroes games instead.”

“But two years is so long! I mean, this is Storybrooke, I could totally learn and nobody would mind. Plus, you never know, it might save my life if some villain decides to show up unannounced.”

“Henry!” Regina exclaims, tensing at the thought. She feels Emma’s soothing hand on her left leg.

“Don’t upset your mother like that,” Emma scolds him. “If anything happened, we would protect you as we always have. Plus, I’m the Sheriff, I’m not about to break the law just because my son wants to learn how to drive two years early. You get to ride your own horse with your Mom and your Grandpa, that’s already pretty great.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Henry looks up to Regina’s eyes and gives her his most contrite face.

“Apology accepted,” Regina answers him with a caress of her fingers on his cheek. “We should get ready for lunch. If you’re hungry, that is.”

Emma is the first to answer. “For your food? Always.”

Henry and Emma put their controllers back by the TV and turn off his game system. Emma asks if there’s anything she can do, while Henry goes to wash up and get dressed upstairs. They get back to the kitchen and Regina serves Emma a small glass of her coquito.

“Oh wow,” Emma exclaims after she tries a sip. “That’s really good!”

“Yes, and really strong. You’re driving later, I’m not giving you more.”

Emma pouts but doesn’t discuss Regina’s cautiousness. She takes the couple of steps which separate them, setting her glass down on the kitchen counter by Regina’s side.

Emma smiles, cocky maybe. “I promise not to blow up the kitchen. You can go get pretty and all.”

“Am I not always pretty?” Regina taunts, catching her lip in her teeth at how daring she is.

Emma leans in so close to her she can feel her breath on her cheek and the flare in their magic. “You’re the fairest of them all.”

They stare at each other for not quite long enough.

“Go on,” Emma says, “all the smells are making me hungry.”

Regina tears herself away and says, “No more coquito for you.”

She climbs the stairs to her bedroom faster than she would have before. She lays out the underwear, garter belt and stockings and the sleeveless, hugging red dress she knows Emma loves because it embraces her every curve and shows off her arms. She’s got a black jacket to wear with it later, when and if she goes to Granny’s party.

Looking fleetingly at herself in her full length mirror, she sheds her comfortable clothes in a pool at her feet and makes her way to her en suite. The water is hot and relaxing on her chest and shoulders, and though she’s eager to get back downstairs, to Emma, she takes the time to lather her body in shower cream with a fluffy sponge, trying desperately to regain some peace for her beating heart . She wonders a moment, considers looking even, if her heart is as dark as ever or if glows brighter. Pure.

Would love do that to her? Make her a better person?

She rinses off after washing her hair, then towels herself dry and blow dries her hair in place. A light application of make-up but for the deep shade of red lipstick, the dress, some perfume and she’s inspecting herself in the mirror again.

The fairest of them all, yes, but is she beautiful? Of heart and soul. Probably not ever as much as those so called heroes parading around. But enough for Emma? Enough for Emma to forgive her the past she can never shed, of pain, sufferings and death? Of insane yet deliberate choices?

They have so much to talk about. So much truth to be shared. Would Emma love her still, after all that? Would they survive? Evil Queen and Street Rat.

She closes her eyes and breathes in shaky breaths of something she has learned to never allow herself. Hope.

Hope against fate.

She can hear the distant sounds of laughter and Henry’s excitement which tell her Emma and Henry are waiting on her. She hurries down the stairs as fast as she’s climbed them to find them in the kitchen. Emma is nursing the end of a fresh glass of coquito she wasn’t supposed to drink and Henry is making silly gagging sounds and a disgusted face.

“Eww!” Henry is grimacing. “It tests like something burning in my throat and eggs. Yuck!”

“It’s the alcohol, kid,” Emma chuckles. “Now you’ll know the thing to avoid until you’re a grown man.” Looking from Henry to Regina, she adds quickly, “Or forever. Forever is good, too.”

“You gave him coquito?” She has her hands on her hips in a very motherly possibly Wonder Woman fashion. These two are in trouble.

“Well…” Emma is dancing from one foot to the other.

Regina raises her hand to stop her. “We do not give our child alcohol, Emma.” She then turns around to face Henry who sobers up in a flash. “And you know better than this, young man.”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“It was my fault, Regina.” Emma looks properly chastened, and definitely regretful. “I’m sorry.” She wraps an arm around Henry’s shoulders. “We’re sorry.”

“Very well.” Regina steps out of her severe pose. “I have to fry the almojábanas and then we can have our lunch.”

With a push from Emma, Henry walks out the kitchen.

Regina makes her way around the kitchen island opposite Emma, and gets busy with the cheese fritters. Emma is by her side instantly.

“He was curious,“ Emma sighs, “like he was last summer about the beer. I just thought if he tried it here with me, he wouldn’t be influenced by the other kids at school.”

She doesn’t want to be irritated. She doesn’t know if she’s more irritated at herself for reacting badly or if she’s irritated at Emma being a good parent.

“He’s being influenced to drink by children at school?” Regina can’t help how suddenly worried and horrified she feels.

Emma takes her hand and forces her to look away from her cheese fritters. “Look at me.” She lifts her hand to her chest and is rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. Regina looks. “He’s in seventh grade, he’s a curious boy, and kids that age are known to do dumb things even when they’re smart like Henry. He’s younger than most of them and he doesn’t exactly have tons of friends. He just wants to be cool.”

“How do you know that?” Regina can hear the pout in her voice.

Emma probably does, too, as she chuckles softly. “I’ve been dumb in seventh grade, trying to be cool. You haven’t. Trust me on this one?”

“I… I trust you.” She does. She trusts Emma with her life, with their lives. She trusts Emma and she really doesn’t want to ruin Christmas over a sip of Puerto Rican eggnog. Not when she used to try different sorts of spirits with her father, both sneaking away from her mother, at exactly Henry’s age.

“‘Kay,” Emma says, offering her a smile before giving Regina her hand back. “I’ll eat it, if it’s too cooked.” She nods to the fritter lolling around in the fryer.

“Oh, shit,” Regina curses and gets tongs to grab the very tanned almojábana.

As suddenly as she had taken her hand earlier in the living room, Emma kisses her cheek a little soundly. Sweet. “Did I ever tell you I love your potty mouth?”

Regina wants to retort, she wants to, but she’s speechless. By the time she recovers, Emma is heading out of the kitchen.

That cheese fritter ends up in the trash bin.

When she brings the almojábanas and the bacalao guisado ensalada, her two favorite persons in the world are both looking at her with their most charming smiles. And how could she resist that? She can’t help but smile back at them and that smile doesn’t leave her during all their lunch.

Emma and Henry wolf down through the fritter and the cod salad. Of course, Emma having stubbornly insisted on eating her fair share of it has to drink a pint of milk to ease the fire in her mouth.

“I thought you said it was mildly spicy! Mildly!” Emma gulps down another half glass of milk. “This is not working. I’m going to spontaneously combust.”

Of course Henry is laughing at her tears and sniffles.

“You little minx!” Emma points a finger at him. “I feed you, entertain you, spoil you rotten.” She coughs a bit more. “You are so grounded.”

“Mom! She can’t ground me for not being able to handle the heat, right? I didn’t do anything.”

“Emma,” Regina is rubbing her back, “just breathe, it’ll pass soon. Don’t be unreasonable.”

Emma pouts again but she leans into Regina a bit more and seems to be biting her tongue.

“That’s right, finish your milk. I’ll go get the main course and you’ll feel much better eating something else.”

“You sure?” Emma blows her nose for the umpteenth time.

“I am.”

A light touch to Emma’s cheek and Regina leaves for the kitchen to get ready to serve her main course. She plates the pasteles and places the meat and baked potatoes in a large dish. She reserves the meat's juice in a ceramic saucier and is glad to see Henry come in to help her take the dishes to the dining room.

When they return, Emma has her runny nose and eyes under control. She almost looks herself again. Obviously the incident doesn’t stop either Henry or Emma from eating plenty of pork, potatoes and pasteles. After her second service, Emma pops open the button of her jeans, and Henry is whining that he’ll die of indigestion.

“It’s so good, Mom!”

“It is, Regina.”

“Thank you.” She preens at their compliments. “Both of you can have leftovers tomorrow, but I think you’ve had enough for today.”

“There’s still dessert, right?” Emma asks, obviously concerned that Regina could withhold her chocolate pie from her.

“Of course there is, but you look like you need time to digest a little.”

“Who, me?” Emma smiles, big and silly, “Nah, I always, always have room for dessert. Especially yours.”

There is no resisting their joyful gluttony, and it is Christmas after all. She prepared this feast just for them. Regina has eaten her share, and doesn’t feel like overindulging. She would much rather enjoy the domesticity of feeding her family a lunch they won’t forget.

In the kitchen, though, once she’s cut the tart into eight pieces and prepared her tray with dessert plates and pie forks, she feels the cold hand of sadness wrap around her heart. Soon, they’ll go. She’ll have to say goodbye. She’ll be alone in an empty house full of the ghosts of their laughter and joy. She’ll have a few hours to wait until she’s due at Granny’s. Abandoned.

She hates the weakness at her knees, the trembling of her hands. Will this morning be enough for Henry and Emma to not forget all about her the moment they step in Snow White’s house, no doubt full of food, presents and Baelfire?

She hates that, Snow and him. That coward. She should be going, too. It’s unfair. It’ll ruin what she’s worked so hard to do, to build. To offer.

She shakes her head, hoping somehow to dissipate the ugliness of the feelings growing in her stomach and constricting her chest. It’s dessert. The cinnamon rice pudding. The decadent salted caramel chocolate pie Emma loves so very much. She can do this. She can smile. Be the bigger person. Give both her loves the smile they want from her and the warm goodbyes to close a fantastic Christmas day that only continues for them but doesn’t erase what they’ve had before. Their time. Their moment.

As long as Emma comes back to her. She must have faith. She said she trusts Emma and she must. She’ll come back to her. Not to him. No matter what Snow has in mind. Their magic sings in harmony. Together. That’s not something Snow can ever change.

Regina returns to the dinning room, her step incisive and determined in her black stilettos. In the red dress Emma loves. With the smile they both deserve.

She’s afraid. Hopefully it won’t sicken their bond.

Dessert goes slower than she’d imagined. It’s punctuated by ‘ahs’, ‘hos’ and ‘mmms’ with each and every bite, second servings and comfortable silence in between.

“Regina,” Emma reaches across to put her hand on hers, “this meal was absolutely perfect. You’ve outdone yourself.” She smiles. “Thank you so very much for having me.”

She squeezes Emma’s hand in turn. “I’m delighted you enjoyed your time with us, and I’m very happy you accepted our invitation.” Their magic thrums with Emma’s intent, maybe she’s felt Regina’s dread.

Henry gets up and hugs her, loosely wrapping his arms around her neck and kissing her cheek. “Thanks, Mom, it was the best Christmas ever.”

She smiles, promptly hiding the tingling of salty water gathering in her eyes by saying, “Let’s take all this in the kitchen, I’ll put the food away and clean up while you digest.”

All three of them make quick work of clearing the dining table, and once it’s clean and properly restaged as before, Regina busies herself with putting away the leftovers of cod salad, pork and pasteles, as well as the desserts.

“Hey, kid,” Emma says, “you should go pack-up your stuff to go to your grandparents, I’ll finish here with your mom.”

“Okay,” He looks at Regina who nods at him. He leaves, in no hurry, giving her another loose hug on the way.

Once she’s filled containers and covered the desserts with cellophane, Regina moves to the sink and fills up the dishwasher, rinsing each plate one by one. She can feel Emma watching her. Assessing her.

When she turns to the sink to do the dishes, Emma steps in next to her with a dish towel. “Let me help you with that.”

“Really you don’t have to,” Regina tells her. “I have to keep busy all afternoon.”

“Ouch.”

Regina sighs then bites the inside of her cheek, deliberately not looking in Emma’s general direction.

“Look, I know this sucks,” Emma starts, then takes a deep breath and carries on. “You should have been invited. I said so to Mary—to Snow.”

“She thought it more appropriate to invite Baelfire.” She can’t hide the disdain in her tone. At least she managed not to let out her complete disgust.

“Whether or not she invited him, I wanted you there.” Emma stops drying dishes, just as much as Regina has stopped washing them. She turns off the faucet. “I know what she’s trying to do. I’m not blind.”

“Nobody is,” Regina bites. “I’m fairly confident the whole of Storybrooke has noticed what your mother is after when it comes to her precious daughter and grandson.”

“Regina… Come on, look at me,” Emma pleads.

Regina does look. Emma’s eyes are soft with sadness. Again.

“I don’t care what she has in store for me or the kid. You’re Henry’s mother. I’m his mother and his second parent. Neal’s just the new, fun thing. Henry knows better. He’s just happy to have a guy to put a face to when he thinks of his biological father. He knows where he comes from, Regina, and that’s from you and all your love for him and all your years raising him and having this kind of Christmas and birthdays and all the great stuff he’s got going on with you.”

That’s as long a monologue as she ever gets from Emma, yet it’s not at all what she wants to hear. Well, maybe it is nice to hear the positive reinforcement of something she knows in her heart already. In her guts.

What she wants to hear is what Emma hasn’t said. What she hasn’t denied, refuted, rejected. That she has no interest in this Neal Cassidy character and that she wants to be with her.

“You could have visited with Henry and Baelfire before going to your parents, if that was so important to Henry,” Regina retorts. “He is not part of your family. He is not welcome and he does not deserve to be.” She hits the countertop to her left with her hand. “Your mother should be ashamed of herself for playing matchmaker with such an ill-fitted suitor for you.”

She sounds and feels vehement, but the fear that she has probably overstepped her bounds is turning her stomach .

Jealousy is unbecoming on anyone, certainly on her, and she despises herself for how distasteful it must look to Emma.

Emma has her hand in hers and in a swift movement, sways her to step away from the sink and much closer to the doorstep of the kitchen. Into her arms. Their hands joined together on Emma’s chest.

She feels the storm in their magic, the same that has her eyes shining purple. She doesn’t expect the shy but crooked smile at the corner of Emma’s mouth.

“Am I amusing you, Miss Swan?” Regina doesn’t know how to respond to what is happening in this volatile moment and all she can do to keep a lid on her temper is to be cynical.

“No,” Emma answers, calm and collected. She simply nods for Regina to look up and smiles at her again.

“Oh.”

They’re under a sprig of mistletoe. She has always put it up in the kitchen to please Henry, who used to love climbing up a kitchen stool to kiss his mamá.

The mistletoe.

Regina suddenly feels as shy as a débutante at the Yule ball.

She only has eyes for Emma’s vibrant ones. Her stomach is now filled with all the butterflies in the world, her chest heaving with huffed breaths which are not feeding her lungs with enough precious oxygen.

Emma.

Emma isn’t smiling anymore. Her breathing is as uneven as Regina’s. It’s desire dancing in her eyes. Regina parts her lips, unable to look anywhere but Emma’s mouth.

She feels the warmth of Emma’s sweet breath as she inhales it, when Emma pauses, her lips a gasp shy of hers.

She closes her eyes at the force of Emma’s lips on hers. The surge of her desire pulling between her legs and crashing in waves through both their veins pushing her further into Emma’s hips and arms. The whine in Emma’s throat is magic to her ears as she opens her mouth. Emma’s tongue is in her mouth, her jaw strong. Her intent stronger.

Regina cups the nape of her neck, as Emma places a claiming hand at the small of her back. Emma’s heart is thundering under their hand together on her chest.

The searing heat, the wetness, the taste. Regina is losing herself, kissing back, deeply. Bewitched. They both moan. They both seek more of one another.

“Emma…” Regina whispers on her red, smudged lips.

Emma’s tongue takes her again. A fist full of hair. A hand full of ass. Draw.

Regina pulls on Emma’s hair. They stare. Breathing hard. Kissing hard.

God, she’s wanted this and her body is screaming it. Loud.

“I should go,” Emma says, voice low and hoarse. She pulls Regina into her so tightly it does hurt.

“You don’t want to go.” Regina bites her lower lip, pulling her into another kiss.

Their teeth knock. Their lips bruise. Their tongues join. Their saliva mixes.

Regina swallows Emma. She wraps her arm around her neck. She arches into her.

“Mmm, fuck,” Emma moans on her lips. “Regina…”

“I don’t want you to go.”

Emma kisses her forehead, her cheek, her neck. She stays there, nuzzling at her skin. She kisses underneath her ear, presses her lips there. She breathes in and out, slowly regaining her control.

“I don’t want him,” Emma whispers.

Regina is about to retort that he wants her. That her mother wants him for her. That she hates them.

“Moms?” Henry’s voice sounds close, in the parlor.

“Coming, kid,” Emma answers him. “You got everything?” She tucks a strand of Regina’s hair behind her ear and kisses her lips softly.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Regina stops Emma from parting from her. “You have lipstick all over your mouth.”

Emma smirks. Regina uses her thumb to wipe the red of her passion from Emma’s lips. She smoothes her own lips together, wiping their contour, making sure she’s presentable.

Her lipstick on both of them. Kissing like teenagers. Under the mistletoe.

“Come see us off?” Emma asks.

“Of course,” Regina responds, harsher than she wished she’d wanted to be. She by-steps Emma and plasters on her most motherly smile for Henry. “Are you all set, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” He comes to hug her. “I had a lot of fun with you, Mamá. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, baby.” She closes her eyes and rests her chin on top the crown of his head. They hold each other for a long moment, maybe too long for him not to sense her fear.

“I’ll be home tomorrow,” he tells her.

“You have fun, mijo.” She kisses him.

“You, too,” Emma interjects, right beside them. “At Granny’s this evening. Your coquito is going to kill it.”

“We shall see.”

Henry opens the front door and walks out to the porch. Emma’s fingers brush hers as she follows him.

“I’ll be back,” she says. She looks her in the eye, intent. The blue rings of her magic embracing her pupils. “I promise.”

Regina nods.

She watches her heart walk away with them. Her cracked chest bleeding.

Eviscerated.

Fuck Snow White. Shame on her and her selfishness. Curse her for always, always coming in between Regina and any semblance of happiness she can muster.

She would crack the earth open under their feet, not unlike how her chest feels at present.

She would but for what Emma has given her.

She shall go to Granny’s. She will find the strength to enjoy herself. To be present in the moment. For that one thing, she shall live another day.

A kiss. A promise.


	6. Merry Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Synopsis | As Regina is alone for the night after the party at Granny’s, Emma shows up on her doorstep with a precious cargo. Regina takes Emma in for the night and they finally come together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Dev,
> 
> What a journey! I know it's June and not quite Christmas anymore but hopefully you will still feel the magic.
> 
> This is one of my fluffiest piece, and I'm glad I wrote it for you and your charming viking demeanor.
> 
> With all my love,  
> C.

 

* * *

 

Regina closes the door behind Emma.

The impossible boots are tied high on Emma’s calves, and the leather is wet. So are her jeans, up to the knee. Regina kneels in front of her to work on the boots, ignoring Emma’s gigantic eyes, full of surprise, shyness, and a dash of something that looks like contentment at being cared for. Once Emma has stepped out of them, Regina smooths a lock of her hair after removing the beanie hat. She gets a nervous smile and bite of the lip for that. She opens the coat further and pulls on each finger of the gloves to take them off, one hand after the other. She gets a burning blush for that. Emma scoops up the little fur ball—still well tucked and fast asleep in her scarf—with one hand while Regina helps her out of her coat, an arm after the other, stepping around Emma until she’s facing her again, bottom lip trapped under her front teeth.

“Come to the living room, the fire’s burning.”

Regina takes Emma’s free hand in hers, leading the way.

They can do that with each other now. Since the mistletoe.

To hell with pretending they are not more to each other than mothers sharing a son, or barely friends. It might not be quite clear, or quite established, what it is exactly they are to one another. Although there are times when Regina can try to pretend what she feels doesn’t send her heart racing, now is not one of these times.

They can go back to dancing around each other—stolen looks, stolen touches, stolen almost  kisses after Christmas—tomorrow. Tomorrow is fine, as long as tonight Emma stays, Emma smiles again, Emma remains in the comfort of her and there is no more misery, in the usually vibrant, maybe even defiant eyes.

They can’t go back.

“Emma, have you told anyone where you are?”

Emma is sitting on the couch closest to the fireplace, her legs tucked to the side of her, comfortably settled back.

“Kinda?” Emma ducks her head.

Regina sighs. “Let me get you that hot chocolate.”

She’s melting chocolate with a dash of chili and cinnamon powder. Adding two percent to half and half in a stainless steel pitcher, she heats the milk with the steamer of her espresso machine. She stirs it all in a large mug with a little foam on top and cinnamon sprinkles. She makes herself a nice cup of tea with a spoon of honey in it. 

Emma looks fragile and emotional. It’s not often at all that she allows anyone to bear witness to her emotional process. It’s not often either she manages to put words to it. It’s quite possibly the main reason why they have yet to admit to the intense attraction and profound attachment they’ve developed for each other. And trust. Always trust.

It’s trust, sleeping in Emma’s scarf, against her beating heart.

Regina inhales a pacifying breath.

Daniel wanted her to love again. He would have liked Emma Swan. He would have liked Emma Swan for her. She’s liking Emma Swan for herself more and more, maybe, probably, more than she ever liked Daniel for herself. It’s a step, a mile long step further than she’s ever allowed herself to feel, Her included, and that she’s ever thought she could get to, Curse or not.

Then there was Neverland. Neverland changed it all.

She got a non-present for Christmas with a photo of the three of them as her background and screensaver, and Emma’s number on speed-dial.

Attention. That’s how Emma Swan loves. Generous.Terrified.

And God what has she done but encourage her. Encourage her because she needs. Because she wants.

Because she craves.

Emma Swan is a mess. The cat got her tongue, so she leaves crumbs leading to her heart as she enraptures others’ without even meaning to or understanding she can. She never stays long enough, though. Regina misses her. 

She misses Emma too late at night.

And now she’s got a kiss. A kiss that will change everything.

“Here,” Regina sets the steaming mug into Emma’s free hand, “it should warm you up.”

“Thanks.”

Regina studies Emma for a long moment. She misses Emma Swan too late at night, and there’s nothing she has managed to do as of yet to prevent it but feeble attempts at denial. Pretense.

She would like to soothe and support. How unexpected a desire, a need almost, this has become. The desire to share in their burdens, as different yet similar to one another they may be.

Patience is not what she does best. Perseverance is.

“Mrs. Pottermore’s cat passed away.” Emma says it as if to explain her presence in the mansion with a kitty in her arms.

A kitty that Regina is so very tempted to touch. She refrains, though. It’s clear Emma isn’t ready.

“Oh,” she says, because what else is she to say?

“You know the talking teapot in Beauty and the Beast? I found out that’s Mrs. Pottermore.” Emma’s smile looks tired. “Henry and I totally crack up about it every time she calls at the station about Duchess, but we told you that already. And you know? Duchess? From the Aristocats. She’s called like that because of the movie, Mrs. Pottermore told me once. Duchess isn’t real in your world, is she? Or the kittens?”

“No, Emma, not that I am aware of.” Because Emma would have rescued Marie, and Marie has two lovely little brothers and Duchess is dead. “Duchess gave you more trouble this time?”

“She’s like this prissy Persian white princess cat, so you’d think she’d stay put and look pretty in the window, but, no, she insists on climbing trees and rooftops, places I always have to get her out of. You’d laugh if you saw me rescue the damn cat.”

“I would,” she says. This is a sad story. A sad story about dead mothers and small little ones left behind.

Animals and children. Defenseless in their own ways. It didn’t use to stop her, back in the days of evil scheming and plots. Blinded by rage. Destroying happiness. Means to an end. Hurting children for free was never her thing, though, nor was sacrificing animals. She never killed a single wolf, no matter how much she threatened the Huntsman of exterminating his family. Or the Children of the Moon, for that matter.

Red was never in real danger from her. As illogical and irrational as it sounds and was then.

“Mrs. Pottermore called me this afternoon.” Emma looks down at the small and fast-asleep kitten she’s holding so delicately. “She waited until after lunch, you know? Because it’s Christmas and all. Duchess had her kittens a couple of weeks ago and she’s only been coming back sporadically. But Mrs. Pottermore found her dead last night by the back fence of her yard.”

“I’m sorry Duchess died.” She’s truly sorry. Even if all she’s known of the cat and her owner are the amusing stories Henry has told her about Emma’s misfortunes since she learned of the energetic older lady and Duchess one evening at the diner after Henry’s parent-teacher conference.

“Mrs. Pottermore was very worried about the kittens,” Emma goes on.

“So she called you to help rescue them?” Regina supplies.

“Yeah.”

“I found them, eventually.” She takes a deep rattled breath. “Three little dead bodies, in a bush, half a mile from the house. When I told Mrs. Pottermore, she couldn’t bear it. She said this one’s gonna look just like Duchess.”

Regina says nothing. She scoots closer to Emma but doesn’t touch her. Emma rarely enjoys spontaneous contact she hasn’t initiated herself. But this is her. Them.

They do that with each other now. Since Neverland.

The pull must be strong enough, however Emma usually shies from it, for she switches sides, tucks her feet underneath her thighs anew and lets her head softly to Regina’s shoulder. Regina shifts slightly to have more of Emma’s head to her chest, and wraps her arms around her. She can feel the soft and very present little ball of warmth nestled between them.

She can feel the tears against the skin of her throat too.

Regina doesn’t hush or placate. She only lets the tears run their course. She caresses the unruly blond hair away from Emma’s face. She even kisses the crown of her head once. “You saved her. She’s safe now, and we’re going to love her. We’re going to take very good care of her. She has a home now.”

“She’s so tiny,” Emma sniffles.

“She still needs a mother very much, but we will give her all the care she needs to thrive. We should ask your father if he has what we need at the clinic to feed her.”

“What if she’s too young and too weak?”

Emma knows the answer to these questions. Regina knows she needs the comfort of having the answers voiced. Reassurance, she can do.

“How about this.” She cups Emma’s cheek in an accompanying movement to lift her head so they’re looking at each other. “I will call David, to tell him you’re not outside in the cold anymore, but safely here with one of the kittens. I am sure he’ll have some helpful ideas on how to care for the little one. You’ll stay here tonight. Then tomorrow, when Henry comes home, we’ll drive to Portland to visit a veterinarian and a pet store and whatever else she needs, since the clinic is closed. We’ll make sure to give her her best chance, yes?”

“As a family?” Emma sniffles again, the mother in Regina very much wants to hand her a tissue, sit the girl in her lap, and rock her until she’s sighing and content.

She settles for kissing it better. Softly, tenderly, just once. The first once, mistletoe aside. The once that promises twice and thrice, and there should be words for what comes after thrice. ‘Forever once’ or ‘infinitely’ would be agreeable.

Always. She promised.

“Yes, mi cielo, as a family.” Emma sniffles, but  smiles a little on Regina’s lips. “What is it?”

“I get Spanish names, too.” Regina softly kisses Emma again, once more, in agreement. “Like Henry.”

Because Henry-niño is her Little Prince, and she loves him so.

“It seems I can’t help myself.” Regina smiles back to her. “On principle only, the ones I love, I love with my very soul, and my soul is made of Spanish.”

“I can’t believe I never noticed until after Neverland. I mean Henry never mentioned it and I guess I didn’t make the effort to get to know you better before.”

“It’s perfectly natural to him,” Regina explains. “I taught him my native tongue, my language from the Land. The one that my father and my abuelita spoke.”

The one in her blood and ground. The one her mother forbade her to ever use in her presence.

“My mother hated it. She thought speaking it made me no better than the peasant flock she was trying to escape herself.” She focuses on the fire, threading her fingers in Emma’s hair. “She wanted me to be perfect. She wanted to uproot me and give me to the first prince she could find.”

When she had finally gotten her second chance in Henry, she had been so scared of doing the wrong thing, of appearing weak and sentimental in front of her enemies, unaware or not. She had felt inadequate, learning this world, learning Henry. She had not known how to build bridges and deep connections, only to strive for perfection. Like her mother had ingrained into her. Like her father had allowed.

She’s not mad. Not at her papi. Anger still does get the best of her at times. That he couldn’t do more. That he never whisked her away and escaped far, far, always further from Cora the Miller’s daughter and her icy, heartless grip.

“Regina,” she whispers, “the reigning queen.”

She’s been looking at Emma. She understands now. Not every form of bravery looks like a charming prince on a white horse with a brandished sword and chivalrous heart.

Her Savior doesn’t. She can forgive her papi. Hating him takes more energy than she has ever had.

Teaching Henry, that had been her first step at healthy defiance and independence. Of building bridges and deep connections.

“I’m glad you taught Henry.” Emma looks up to her. “I’m glad I know now, and maybe, maybe you can teach me, too?”

Regina smiles, her warm, most gentle smile. She leans in and presses her lips to Emma’s. Gentle as her smile.

“Do you have your cellphone with you?” she asks.

“Yeah.” Emma produces the brand new iPhone identical to hers and Henry’s.

“May I?” It doesn’t take too long for Emma to relinquish the phone after unlocking it. She nods as Regina takes it and settles back down against her chest.

The background picture is a poignant candid of Regina, kneeled in front of Henry, their foreheads together, smiling to each other.

She taps the  _ Contacts _ app as the screen is about to shut down. She finds David’s name easily enough and hits dial. Charming picks up after two short rings. No doubt waiting.

_ “Emma, sweetheart, you okay?” _ David’s voice is cracking with worry.

“Hello, David.” Regina gives him a second to recognize to whom he’s speaking.

_ “Regina? Is Emma all right? Is she with you?” _

He doesn’t immediately accuse her of anything diabolical or of harming his one and only daughter. She chooses to reward him.

“Your daughter is safe and sound, albeit tired and cold. She’s safely home, with me.” He can chew on that. If he actually manages to pick up on it.

Emma’s face in her neck allows her to overhear the conversation. David is quiet for a moment. She can almost hear his silence scream  _ ‘Why isn’t she the one calling? Why isn’t she coming home to us?’ _

_ “Did she get called on another emergency? She didn’t take my calls nor tell me what she was leaving to do. I would have helped. We were worried. If she hadn’t texted me earlier, I would have gone looking for her.” _

Regina looks to Emma’s face and her usually vibrant, maybe even defiant eyes. Indecision. Guilt. 

“The important thing is that she is fine now.” Regina’s tone is final. Charming might even take the hint. “Mrs. Pottermore’s cat passed away during the night. She waited until after Christmas morning to take Emma away from her festivities to help look for her cat’s newborn kittens.”

_ “Oh.” _

“Emma was able to retrieve one and she brought the little thing here.”

_ “How old is the kitten?”  _ His voice has softened, no doubt aware of the several baby cats Emma could not rescue.

“She’s approximately two weeks old.”

The gears in David’s brain seem to click efficiently. She hears him rub a hand to his forehead and in his hair.  _ “She’s going to need feeding, and warmth. A lot of warmth. Is she responsive? Is she purring? Or shaking?” _

“She’s asleep wrapped in Emma’s scarf, on her heart.”

_ “Good, that’s good, keep her there. Is she shaking?” _

Regina looks down to the peaceful round ball of fur in Emma’s hand. She turns slightly to read Emma’s face. Emma mouths  _ ‘beginning’ _ .

“Emma mentioned she was shaking when she found her. She doesn’t appear to be injured.”

“ _ Okay, it means she was cold before, but she warmed up. She’s not purring, that’s good, too, means she’s not in pain. _ ”

“What should we feed her?” Regina remembers a two-week-old baby Henry needing feeding every couple of hours at all times.

_ “She could use formula with vitamins and good nutrients. I think you can give her warm milk for tonight, but cut it with water or she’ll be sick to her stomach. About a third of the portion you intend to give her. She won’t drink a lot, but often. I’ll go to the clinic when the snow lets up to see what is there, but Doc Arturo is on vacation for the holidays.” _

“I am well aware. Emma and I will drive with Henry and the kitten to Portland to visit a veterinarian and a pet store.”

_ “That might be her best shot.” _ He agrees pensively, almost to himself.  _ “You’ve got snow tires on your car?” _

“Yes, I do.” Thanks to Emma and her silent attentions.

_ “Okay. I’ll go see what I can find for the kitten first thing in the morning and then I’ll get Henry to you. Don’t worry about breakfast, we’ll bring that for you so you guys can go right away.” _

Maybe Charming is not all that useless, if she must admit it. “7:30 am?” It would be reckless to leave earlier than that and drive in the snow with no visibility.

_ “Sharp. Leave your garage door unlocked and your keys on the counter, I’ll warm the car up.” _

“As you wish.”

_ “Okay. So, I guess she’s not going to talk to us, is she?” _

Emma shakes her head once. “Tomorrow.”

“ _ Would you tell Emma that her mother and I love her? And we’re happy she’s safe.” _

“I will. Please share our love with Henry.” She doesn’t feel like denying Emma any of the love she can have, even if she’s already overheard it. “Thank you for your assistance.” 

_ “Will do and don’t mention it. Thanks for calling us and for taking care of Emma.” _

“Of course.” It’s what Emma needs. “Goodnight, David.” She’s aware, surprisingly, that she’s being polite and cooperative. She’s being gentle. Because Emma does that to her. Maybe more because she wishes it, for Emma.

_ “Night.” _

Regina kisses Emma’s forehead. She lets her cheek rub there next as Emma rests in her neck once more.

“Thanks,” Emma whispers.

“Your mother wanted me to tell you they love you.”

“Yeah.”

Regina sips her cooling tea. Emma and the kitten are snuggled into her, Emma drinking her hot chocolate. The silence isn’t inconvenient, nor heavy. It’s just calm, quiet. Emma has a lot to say. They have a lot to talk about. For now, the fire is crackling, the little furball is sleeping and Emma is here, with her.

Maybe she was scared to go back to the Charmings, in case the kitten didn’t make it. Obviously she was worried about getting Regina a Christmas present, but—

“Regina?” Emma asks.

“Yes?”

“Do you think we should try to feed her something?” Emma’s head has lifted up again, her eyes turned to Regina and mired in concern.

Without a word, Regina gently disentangles herself from Emma before swiftly standing and offering her hand.

Again, Regina doesn’t let go of Emma’s hand as they walk to the kitchen.

“I’ll warm some milk so it’s appetizing to her.”

“We don’t have a bottle or anything.”

Regina thinks for a moment, picturing what they could use. “I have an idea we could try.”

She walks to the pantry and retrieves some of her chemistry or potion kits and materials. She finds a dropper of just the right size, a syringe and cotton balls.

“She’ll be able to drink from the dropper, or suck on the cotton balls.”

“You’ve got a whole lab in that cupboard.” Emma is looking around. Curious.

Regina sighs. “I’ve always enjoyed potion making.” Emma frowns. “It’s why I like baking so much. Baking is like chemistry, it’s an art of combining just the right amount of ingredients, in the right fashion, at the right time. It’s precise and… I just like to make things.”

She closes her mouth and freezes at Emma’s expression. She has a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“What?” Regina walks to the fridge to get the milk. She fills a couple of the droppers’ bottles while she puts the kettle on.

“You like to make things?” Emma is suddenly right next to her.

“Yes,” Regina admits, not looking up.

“And to play with your chemistry set.” Emma lets out a short giggle which in turn has the kitten in her arms stir and search around her with the tiniest little meow.

“Well done, you’ve scared her.” Regina isn’t really annoyed, but she doesn’t like Emma mocking her. There’s nothing wrong with chemistry, or a little potion making, and Henry has certainly never complained about her baking. Until the turnovers.

“You’re a nerd, it’s cute.” Emma’s tone isn’t teasing. She’s petting the kitten to calm her down, looking her in the eye and nuzzling at her. “Don’t worry little one, Regina’s getting your milk ready.”

Regina focuses on heating the glass bottles in a bain-marie, silently wishing that she could release her nerves and not be so damn irritable. That she could be less defensive and accept that there is a reason why Emma seeks her out. Why Emma sought her out today, of all days, with her precious cargo in a moment of need.

Emma chose her. She could have gone anywhere, but she came to her and Regina feels the annoyance at her own insecurity creep at the nape of her neck, burning her nerves, working her jaw in a forced and conscious effort to control her temper. Nervous.

She’s being ridiculous. Embarrassed that she’s actually pleased to have Emma Swan in her kitchen at an ungodly hour on Christmas day. On any day. Because she wants to. With her.

They spend time together, it’s not new.

They do that with each other now. Since Neverland.

That was over six months ago.

They do coffee and lunches and benches and tires. Home-cooked meals and beach frisbee with Pongo. And she works, Henry is seeing Archie and Emma Swan keeps on choosing her. It’s good like that.

Emma’s sweet scent of the perfume she chose for her. Emma’s face nestled into her. Emma’s lips, chapped from the cold, and her nerves when she kissed them.

The milk is ready. Regina retrieves a soft kitchen towel and approaches Emma who has been observing her only whispering to the kitten. It’s time for Emma to let her have the little thing. They both know it.

“May I?” Regina asks, although she stays where she is, standing by the kitchen island.

It’s Emma’s step to take.

Emma nods, the gesture seems more for herself than for Regina, but she approaches nonetheless.

The kitten is light and soft, not that happy to be manipulated around, but the moment Regina puts the tip of the dropper in her protesting mouth, she quiets down and suckles greedily. The poor thing is famished.

“There, there, little one,” Regina coos and settles the kitten against her own heart. “No need to fuss, there’s plenty.”

Emma hasn’t moved away from her. She’s actually stepped closer to her. She wraps her arms around Regina’s waist and pulls her hips into hers. She holds up the glass bottle for Regina to refill the dropper every now and then.

The feeding takes about fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of Regina in Emma’s arms. Their foreheads shy of resting against one another. Their magic humming anew of a reassuring energy, focused on the kitten in Regina’s arms.

When the little thing has drunk a whole glass bottle and half the second one, she starts purring and her eyes and face are drooping with sleep. Regina decides to move them upstairs.

“We should go up and find her a comfortable basket to sleep in,” she suggests.

For as much as it pains her, she steps out of Emma’s embrace. She puts the rest of the milk in the fridge and the dropper in the sink. Stepping to the threshold of the kitchen, she offers her hand to Emma. Only once Emma has taken it and linked their fingers does she turn towards the parlor and then ascends the stairs.

She leads them to her bedroom. With a swirl of her hand, she lights up both her bedside lamps, immersing the room in a dim and warm light.

She turns to Emma. “You should take her. I’ll go get what we need to make her comfortable.”

“‘Kay,” Emma answers. She sounds shy, as shy as she did early this morning.

Regina doesn’t wait, though, she walks to Henry’s room to borrow one of his clocks. Then she opens the corridor’s closet and finds a warm fleece blanket. Back in her room, she leaves the items on her bed, finding Emma standing exactly in the same spot as before. She empties a basket full of bath products and diverse shampoos and shower gel.

She wraps the clock in several layers of blanket before filling half  the basket with it.

“Here,” she says, lifting up the basket towards Emma. “Lie her in and cover her. She’ll have the tick of the clock for your heartbeat and the blanket will keep her warm. We’ll put her on the chaise. That way she’s near enough, we can hear her during the night.

She’s said we. Because she wants Emma to spend the night with her. In her bed.

Emma nods and places the kitten in her basket, covering her carefully so she can breathe and be heard.

“Thank you,” she says, putting her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “For keeping the kitten, and me. I really didn’t want to go back to my parents for the night.”

“No?” Regina almost sounds innocent. She walks across her room to her walk-in closet. “I’ll find you something to be more comfortable in.” she says it over her shoulder, leaning to retrieve a soft, ample and shapeless light grey shirt to go with a pair of darker grey yoga pants.

When she rejoins Emma by her bed and hands her the clothes, Emma thanks her and asks, “What room do you want me in?”

Despite the fact that one could qualify that last question as tacky, Regina smiles. It’s very Emma. “I want you here, in my bed.”

Bold it is.

“Oh,” is Emma’s eloquent response.

“You didn’t want to go back to your parents for the night?” Regina reminds her, more intense than measured.

“No,” Emma answers, somewhat frozen. “I’ve had about enough of my mother and her matchmaking. It’s gross.”

“Snow is a lot of things,” Regina feels her jealousy flare and her magic soar, “subtle is not one of them.” Neither is respectful, trustworthy or smart, but she abstains from pointing that much out. She has no interest in being petty.

“Yeah, well, there was enough mistletoe for her to start a dating business.” Emma walks over to the bathroom. She enters it but doesn’t close the door. Regina sits on the edge of her bed, she can hear Emma change. “I swear if it wasn’t Christmas you’d think it was fucking Valentine’s Day.” She returns, her clothes in a bunch in her arms. “I think even Neal was embarrassed too after I told him to fuck off the first time he tried to kiss me.”

Regina is up and taking the wrinkled clothes from Emma in one long stride. She hangs them inside her walk-in closet, hoping to give herself a calming pause to bite back the nasty retort on her tongue.

This jealousy thing has got to stop. It’s proving quite the challenge to keep herself in check.

“He tried to kiss you?” The surprise in her voice is false.

Emma stares at her for a moment too long. Regina wants to hide under a rock somewhere or find something to occupy herself with. She’s embarrassed.

“I’ll go down to the kitchen and make you a plate. I just realized you haven’t had dinner.”

She’s about to pass Emma in a beeline for the door but Emma catches her, both hands closing on her forearms, bringing them together, flush.

“Regina,” Emma orders, “look at me.”

She looks. How could she not? She’s jealous. She’s ashamed. She wants to claim what she needs to know is hers.

“What the fuck do you want me to say, Emma?” Angry. “It’s been months. Months! That your mother insists on shunning me, I can deal with, but that she would throw at you this—this scoundrel!” She’s not gently resting her forehead to Emma’s anymore, but Emma seems determined to hold her. “That’s—no.”

“Scoundrel, eh?” Emma has her smug smile resting at the corner of her mouth.

“This is not fu—” She would have given Emma a sound piece of her mind if not for lips firmly pressed to hers. A tongue in her mouth. A moan in her throat. A hand cupping the nape of her neck.

“I know where I belong,” Emma whispers on her breath.

Regina is the one taking this time. She kisses Emma. Teeth, bruised lips, cracking jaw.

“Mine.” Her hand on Emma’s ass.

“Yours.” Emma’s hips pressed against hers.

She’s pulling off Emma’s shirt while kissing her senseless and backing her to the bed.

“Always.” She pauses above Emma, who’s fallen back on her comforter.

Emma half-naked. Emma’s breasts. Goosebumps on her skin. Royal blue rims in her eyes. Fire in their veins.

Finally.

She’s breathing. Labored huffs of oxygen. Her chest is too tight. Too small for what she’s feeling roaring deep in her lungs. Ready to burst. Shattering her ribs to expand like wings. Bursting from her chest. Growing from her belly. Pooling between her legs. 

Finally.

She pulls off her own shirt, throwing it in a pile onto Emma’s. She climbs onto the bed, a leg between Emma’s. On her hands and knees. All she can see is Emma’s vibrant eyes. Vibrant with magic and desire. She can see it dancing along Emma’s curves. The tightness of her abdomen. The fall of her hips leading to skin still hidden under her yoga pants. She lowers her hips into Emma’s. Slow grinding.

She feels Emma’s fingers weave through her hair, pulling her into an embrace. She lets her head fall to Emma’s neck. She breathes in deeply, against the soft skin below Emma’s ear.

Finally.

“You’re beautiful,” Emma whispers. “So beautiful.” She tightens her hold on Regina. “I need you.”

Regina kisses that skin she was breathing. She whispers back, “You have me now. You will always have me.” She kisses her way along Emma’s jaw line. Emma loosens her embrace to allow Regina to find her lips. Searing. Deep. Kiss. “You’ve had me.”

“I’m the slowest idiot on the planet.” Emma’s hands caress down to the hem of Regina’s own yoga pants. She pushes them down.

Regina pushes herself up to her knees to help her. She steps back off the bed to take her pants off. She pulls Emma’s off while she’s at it and then she pauses.

Emma Swan. Naked. Shivering. Hers.

She places her left hand on Emma’s ankle, caressing her way to her knee. She feels the pull. Emma’s magic calling to her. Caressing Emma’s inner thigh, she has her part her legs. The sight is making her chest tight all over again.

In the same motion of climbing back on the bed, she drapes Emma’s left leg over her shoulder. She leans in, breathing Emma’s scent. It’s like air is missing from her lungs.

“I need you, too,” she whispers on Emma’s entrance before she dips her tongue inside her.

The taste. The heat. The clenching. Regina’s eyes roll back as she pushes in, deeper. Emma cries out. Fingers find her hair again, pulling. Emma’s hips roll against Regina’s mouth, wrapped around Emma’s clitoris. Sucking, nibbling, moving her head up and down as she does.

“Regina,” Emma cries out. Litany.

As Emma comes for her, Regina pushes her tongue inside of her and feels herself grow wetter as she swallows Emma’s pleasure.

“My darling.” Regina kisses her inner sigh, oh-so-tempted to bite Emma’s muscle joining thigh to sex. “My beautiful darling.”

Emma is pulling, grabbing at her to climb up to her level. When she does, there are tears in Emma’s eyes. Regina kisses them, kisses her. Slow. Tender.

“Mi cielo…”

“God, I love you so fucking much.”

Regina smiles. She sets her forehead to Emma’s. “And I love you.” She kisses Emma’s nose. “So fucking much.”

“I want you,” Emma tells her, kissing her lips in return.

Hands caress her sides, leaving her skin prickling with tension. With need.

“Emma,” Regina says her name under her breath. “My Emma. I want you.”

Fingers part her labia. When two penetrate her, shallow and slow, she closes her eyes and moans.

“Show me,” Emma says in her ear. Kisses burn the skin of her throat. “You’re so tight. So ready.”

She is. Ready. She arches and pushes on Emma’s fingers, taking her deeper. Within.

Where her core is blazing, radiating with the pulse of the orgasm descending on her.

Emma’s thumb finds her clitoris. The shock of unexpected pleasure pulls her on her forearms. She rides. She rides harder. One arm holding her up. The fingers of her right hand digging in the flesh of Emma’s chest. Above her heart.

“Emma,” she pants. “Emma.”

“I love when you say my name.” Emma moves her wrist in rhythm with Regina’s hips. “I love when you say my name and you’re coming for me.”

She’s going to come. She feels it. Orgasm, long, falling and stretching from her core deep within to her vagina. Pooling around Emma’s fingers. Clenching.

“Emma,” she whispers.

And she comes.

Hard. Slow. Weakening.

She lies on top of Emma. Keeping her fingers deep inside. Pulsing.

“You’ve broken me.”

“I doubt that.” Emma is happy, she can hear it. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

“Maybe a little rest, then.” Regina breathes in deeply, moving her hips so Emma’s fingers come out gently. She exhales, safe and relaxed against Emma’s body, her face tucked in her neck.

“This feels so right.” Emma is caressing her hair and she feels her eyelids drooping.

“It was about time.”

Emma kisses her temple. “Sleep, I’m not going anywhere.”

No sooner has she closed her eyes and let her mind drift away than she hears a piercing little meow.

Regina sighs loudly and lifts herself up. “Your cat needs feeding.”

In tow, Emma’s stomach growls loudly. “So do I.”

Regina rolls her eyes. As she does. “You— “

Emma kisses her soundly then chuckles and grins.

“Merry Christmas.”


End file.
